


A Little Less Sixteen Candles

by Billywick, hisboywriter



Series: Outlast Roleplay Fiction [4]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-05 10:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 33
Words: 97,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1814689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Billywick/pseuds/Billywick, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hisboywriter/pseuds/hisboywriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waylon Park's got the new school blues as he enters Mount Massive High School. With students like Miles Upshur, Jeremy Blaire, and Eddie Gluskin, it's not surprising how Waylon's curiosity gets the better of him, even on his first day.</p><p> </p><p>This is an RP story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New School Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory High School AU: This follows an RP format so be warned. There is also no overall editing like a typical fanfic. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Compound your first day of school with the middle of the semester, amplify it by having skipped a couple of grades, and you had Waylon Park’s predicament. Never mind that studies upon studies had already concluded these teenage years were so impressionable that it could eclipse childhood trauma and fuck you up for adulthood.

Waylon knew. He caught his parents debating his intellectual aptitude on many occasions when he was thought to be asleep upstairs. He couldn’t help it; he was as curious as he was smart, and perfected the skill of sneaking around his house, being of slender build and all helping with that.

So with the knowledge of these studies and the tropes perpetuated in movies and television, Waylon reminded himself the tension building in his neck was a normal reaction.

Oh, and he was late.

Normally, he was a punctual guy, and the term was founded solely in school punctuality given his lack of outings that didn’t take place in a virtual world. Today, however, he was on the path of a delinquent, already going to earn his first strike, on his first day no less.

All his preparation for today paled for the comedy of errors that left him a little breathless, clutching his messenger bag hard, eyes darting around as he scanned each door he passed. He had an irrational fear that he’d be spotted by someone from the small windows fixed into the classroom doors and be instantly recognized as raw meat.

He would have cursed aloud if he weren’t so tense. Good thing he didn’t. For all the ill favor thrown on him today, a teacher would catch him mouthing off to himself and mark him up.

He hurried on, his shoes deafening in the otherwise silent hallway of Mount Massive High School. He tried not to think how much of an alien he felt, suddenly dumped on a small planet with already established hierarchies, cultures, and authority figures who would keep their eye on him.

Not that he had integrated all that well at his old school. Those were details best overlooked right now.

“Hey!”

Waylon stumbled to a stop, whipped his head around to see a tall guy with hair a little too perfect for a teenager. Crisp clothing too. Waylon devoured the details out of habit, storing the information, but too discombobulated and frustrated to draw conclusions right then and there.

The guy had a handsome face. Waylon pretended that was a fact and not a product of his confusing proclivities. A dark brow quirked up, a hand extended itself. 

“Hall pass?” he asked Waylon.

Was that a real thing? Waylon’s old school didn’t have that.

“Um, no, I--”

“You don’t look familiar.”

Waylon hesitated to introduce himself or blurt out he was new.

“I know everyone at this school,” the boy went on, expectantly.

“I’m...new,” Waylon said.

A smile smoothly, slowly graced the boy’s lips. “Ah. Explains that. You have that lost look about you.”

Waylon shrugged a shoulder, gave a faint chuckle.

The boy crossed the distance and aimed that smile down at him. “Jeremy Blaire.”

Waylon shook his accepted hand after a beat, relieved, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

“Waylon Park.”

“Join the other eight with that last name.” 

Waylon swore Blaire’s finger brushed along his wrist before they let go. His hand had been soft, grip harder than Waylon’s.

“Uh, yeah, I get that a lot,” Waylon said, not really meaning it but it seemed the right thing to say back. “I’m, well, I am lost. I’m trying to find the office.”

Jeremy was still smiling at him, but it was still a kind of smile that made Waylon’s stomach squirm. He attributed it to his usual feelings around people he didn’t know.

“Well, lucky I caught you first,” Jeremy said. “Follow me.”

“Oh. Great, thanks. I, ah, the hall pass thing?”

“What? Oh. Never mind that.” Jeremy waved his hand, then stopped looking at Waylon as something caught his attention. His smile twisted into a smirk. 

Waylon turned, finding another boy down the end of the hall. Well, he thought it was another boy, but he was more lurking around a corner than anything else.

Jeremy snorted. 

“Sneaking around like a rat again, Upshur?” 

So-called rat turned in midstep, relaxing tense shoulders and slacking his leather jacket by the lapels. He was probably as tall as Blaire, but where Jeremy’s hair was perfect, Upshur’s was a stylish mess, swept back with some sort of sticky product that added only a soft touch of shine. A strong set of eyebrows decorated a fiercely intelligent gaze, and the easy smile on rough lips completed the altogether charming picture.

“You know, Blaire, if I pointed out every time you didn’t catch me and compared the two, you’d be out of a job around here. You might even fall loose of Wernicke’s ass.”

Waylon, once he stopped himself from staring at this new guy, made the assumption of Wernicke being part of the administrative department. Jeremy Blaire had to be a student, so maybe he was part of the student council?

What he did know for sure was the disgust these two boys had for each other, so palpable Waylon felt it make his skin go a little clammy.

“You should be grateful I haven’t or you would have been suspended by now,” Jeremy said, standing closer to Waylon. “Sorry you had to see part of the underbelly of the school already. He brings down the entire building’s reputation by being in it, you know.”

Waylon did not want to be trapped between anyone’s drama. He smiled, feebly, at Jeremy, then looked over at Upshur.

“Don’t mind me,” he said.

“Get to class, Upshur. Want to set a good example for our new student here, don’t you? Waylon Park, was it?”

Waylon nodded, tempted to point out their little...tiff was making him that much later. He kept his tongue to himself though.

“Good example? I am the prime example, the only one and entirely the best case for a poor, lost new fellow of the student body,” Clearly, Upshur had no hurry to get himself to his classroom, and Waylon’s presence was an ideal excuse for him to linger in the hallway.

“Miles Upshur, nice to meet you, Waylon Park,” he held out a hand for the new student, but pulled it back before Waylon could take it, mainly because Jeremy probably could glare holes right through him.

“So, you’re the sixth Park here. Better stand out, Park number six. Got a feeling I’m gonna see ya around!”

Waylon’s hand hung on the air, and his thoughts felt similarly. History between these two were not only making him that much more late, but feeling as though he had been hooked onto each of their dashing smiles, ready to be tugged and jerked between the two.

“Hey,” Waylon said in greeting at least, “yeah, I’ll...probably be the one you forget, honestly.”

“Not at all. You’ve already left an impression on me,” Jeremy said, hand on his shoulder, smile and eyes on Miles. A shark’s smile.

“I doubt that,” Waylon said, then cleared his throat. “But--”

“What’s going on here? Why aren’t any of you in cl--Miles Upshur. Why am I not surprised?”

Waylon never saw a guy move so smoothly and effectively around a corner. Miles was gone as quick as he’d been spotted, an older man tailing after him as though he was too old to be bothering with this. Whether Miles went straight to class or not, Waylon didn’t know, but he knew his heart was racing at the hard edge a faculty’s voice carried.

But he seemed to have been spared because Jeremy had passed a few words to the hurrying man, who grunted permission, and then Waylon was being steered the opposite way. In total, he was twenty-two minutes by the time he was introducing himself to the administration. 

He would never quite know if he’d been reprimanded for his tardiness; Jeremy Blaire showered the faculty with sweet talk, brushing off Waylon’s predicament with enough craft that had Waylon both grateful and uncomfortable.

As he filled out the few paperwork left and took his schedule, he couldn’t shake the feel of Jeremy hand in his. It felt like he’d dipped his hand in oil.

At the least, first period had been homeroom, which he ultimately missed but was assured it was the best one to miss out of them all. That meant science was his next class, and an office administrator escorted him there, and publicly announced his status to the class.

Waylon clenched the paper in his hand a little harder, sweeping his gaze swiftly at the students. He tensed when he saw Miles, and didn’t bother looking at anymore students in the class.

“Oh, a newbie, huh?” That would be his science teacher, whom the woman introduced as Mr. Trager. “Raw meat, right? Don’t worry. You’ll make a bunch of buddies soon enough. Now, let’s embarrass you by asking for your name with your own voice and a fact about you.”

Jesus, was this guy serious? Waylon wasn’t sure, with the way he punctuated words with a chuckle.

The woman from the office hadn’t left.

Waylon swallowed and said, “I’m Waylon Park and I...feel incredibly awkward right now.”

That earned him a few chuckles, quiet as a sharp exhale out of the nose. It was something. 

“That’s the spirit. Nobody likes a downer.”

The click of heels told Waylon he was officially stranded, and Trager gestured him toward an open stool at a lab table. Of course it was next to Miles. The universe conspired that way against teenagers, especially fumbling ones like himself.

“Mr. Upshur here will be your lab partner today given that his last one got a bad case of, what was it?”

“Herpes,” one student offered. 

The class shared a laugh as Waylon shuffled in between erected labs, unable to shield himself from the feel of so many eyes on him. He did notice one kid not laughing, a massive guy that Waylon was surprised he hadn’t focused on to begin with.

Like Miles and one other student, he didn’t have a lab partner.

Waylon had to break contact before he got a better look, settling in beside his new partner, smoothing out his schedule on the desk. Trager was dismissing the herpes claim and instructing the students to resume where they left off in last week’s project. By the vials and liquids, Waylon hoped it was easy.

He glanced at Miles, smiled a bit.

“...Did you end up getting in trouble?” He couldn’t help asking.

“You are so brandnew, I’ll forget you just asked me that,” Miles waved off the curiosity, but he also preened at being the center of attention. He got that a lot, but he never tired of it. Obviously.

“Trouble finds me, kisses me and let’s me go. Best boyfriend I’ve ever had. And the only one I’m faithful to.”

Waylon smiled sheepishly, the tension hunching his shoulders easing up. Charm radiated off Miles as the sun did with light, and it basked Waylon with a comfort he didn’t expect to find on his first day of school.

“Sorry, I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

He almost went pink in the ears at the mention of a boyfriend, metaphorical or not. Already he deduced Miles the type to say it like it was, and that must include his sexual proclivities. Was that a good thing? Waylon wasn’t sure. He focused on surviving.

A sudden urge came over him to peek back at the student in the back, but he resisted it.

“I guess you have it in with the faculty that you don’t get in trouble for not having hall passes?”

“You could say that,” Miles leaned back, picking at invisible threads on his jacket. He seemed rather uninterested in the science equipment in front of them.

“Look, Park, are you any good at this? It’s okay if you’re not, I just need to know if we’re gonna fail together or not.”

He shrugged, clearly not committed to his science grade.

Waylon sighed, cursing his hopes for escalating too high. He should have expected it. Well, it could be worse, having a partner who made him feel uncomfortable. Not like he had Jeremy Blaire sitting next to him.

He almost cringed at the reminder of the guy’s smile.

Pouring himself into the assignment abandoned by Miles, Waylon grabbed what was needed.

“I don’t plan to fail, so no. Given that, you probably won’t fail since you’ll be riding my coattails,” he said, trying to steer Miles’ attention to the lab. It didn’t work.

Grumbling to himself as he prepared the assignment, he asked, “So you’re late to classes and aren’t new to failing. I hope this isn’t like your third year in this grade?”

“Oof, you’re really laying into me Park. I don’t know if I like that in a man,” Miles winked broadly at him, watching Waylon work. Sure he could help out, but he couldn’t even remember what the point of pouring one liquid from a beaker into another was, so he preferred studious observation.

“Do I look like Gluskin to you? Nah, I ain’t never failed a grade. And look, anything you do for me in here, I can pay you back how you like. I’m pretty good at everything else.”

Waylon rolled his eyes, partly because Miles couldn’t see him do it entirely. Still, he smiled a bit, tickled by Miles’ humor. The guy had wit, at least. Waylon liked that.

“If that’s a, um, sexual invitation, I’m...good.” He looked over at Miles. “Wait, what? What’s a glue-skin?”

“You wanna shout that any louder? He’s in this class you know,” Miles hissed, swatting at Waylon’s arm. When he checked to see if anyone heard them and found no curious gazes, he explained to Waylon.

“Eddie Gluskin, not glue-skin, moron. He’s a guy...big guy. Sits by the window, last seat? You see him? This is the third time he’s in this grade. And you probably don’t want him to hear you say it like that. Guy has his dignity, if nothing else.”

Waylon resisted the need to whack Miles back, then lost it altogether at the conspiratorial tone Miles took up. At the mention of a big guy, Waylon was already peeking back, spotting the boy known as Eddie Gluskin. What kind of last name was that anyway? He wasn’t sure he could identify its origin. 

Eddie wasn’t big. He put the massive in Mount Massive High School. He did look older too.

Waylon frowned, having enough sense to keep his tone for Miles’ ears alone.

“He looks sad.”

Miles peeked over his shoulder in a casual way that looked way too practiced. Eddie Gluskin was working on his own, again, of course, and he didn’t look any happier to be in science than he had done any days before in any other classes.

“You know, I don’t think he can read very well. Keeps squinting and flicking through his book,” Miles observed, compassionate only for a moment before turning away from Gluskin’s plight.

“Anyway, he can get a bit...you know...physical. He’s done it once or twice, seen him, and confirmed you do not want to take him on in a fight so don’t let him hear you talk about how he’s failed twice already and this year will be number three.”

Waylon believed the bit about getting physical. Eddie sported a few scrapes on his face, from a fight if Miles spoke the truth, and Waylon was inclined to believe him for the better part of his explanation. 

Though he lacked the finesse Miles had perfected, Waylon continued studying Eddie in bursts. Did he struggle to read? This was a good school from what he understood, despite the reputation for once being an asylum. It had been converted to confine (possibly treat) broken minds into a building for nurturing bright ones. Well, some bright ones.

“He’s trying,” Waylon observed, then looked away when Miles suggested in a nudge he was staring. “Three years? That sucks…”

He supposed he wouldn’t have Eddie in many classes, given that most of his were higher levels.

“If he can’t really read, wouldn’t he be put in a special class or...I don’t know, get private tutoring? I mean, three years...that’s not normal. Not in these parts of town?” 

“Slow down there mother Theresa. Shit, are you into charity things and all that? Look, Gluskin is one of those...you know, how you always get a few from the wrong side of the track, even at this kind of school? I think it was to fill our quota of poor kids up. I mean, this school is pretty white, the least we could do is to have some poor fucks from the polish ghettos in here.”

Miles looked again, but cursed this time because Eddie had lifted his gaze and found his, staring right back across the room.

“Fuck! He saw me. Park! Look and tell me when he’s stopped looking ok?”

Eddie waited for Miles to turn to him again with an uncertain smile, but found himself waiting in vain. It must have been an accident.

Waylon had gone tense all over again, panic assuring him he was about to get the beating of his life, and he had been on his fair share of them. He didn’t look back right away, and when he did it was gradually.

Eddie’s attention was on Miles, and he had this little smile. Or something akin to one, in its nascent stage. It withered quickly and Eddie was looking back to his slow work. Terribly slow.

“He stopped looking,” Waylon said, still stealing glances. Everyone seemed to make a point of ignoring Eddie though the guy was clearly struggling.

Waylon hesitated. He was in no condition to ostracize himself further, but now that he’d seen Eddie grappling with a simple procedure, the image wouldn’t leave him be. In the moment he got up, he forgot all about being the new kid.

Trager was otherwise occupied so it wasn’t an obstacle to go down a few labs and stand by Eddie’s table. It was like a dream, and when he realized he was really standing there, fear overcame him.

He licked his lips. It was worse to simply walk away.

Wasn’t it?

“That...it says you gotta put this solution to the twelve ounce mark on that beaker, that one there,” Waylon said, pointing to the appropriate beaker, the one not in Eddie’s hand.

He sounded stupid. He grabbed the beaker and poured it partly himself.

“Like that. Carefully. It can tingle if it gets on your skin.”

Eddie stared at the newcomer, didn’t move or react until Waylon poured the thing for him. Eddie got out of his chair, towering over Waylon’s tiny frame. He had striking blue eyes and a haircut that didn’t really help him look any less than a kid from a ghetto.

“I didn’t ask you for help.” he hissed, his voice deep and perhaps a little menacing. But his eyes, they allowed a hint of gratitude.

“I can do it myself.”

He snatched the beaker from Waylon’s grasp, giving him a glare for public measure.

Waylon had known he was asking for a black eye the instant he started hearing himself speak to a guy that could snap him like a wishbone. Still, something kept him rooted to the spot, maybe stubbornness or fear itself, but even as Eddie loomed over him, he didn’t look away.

Everyone else seemed to be looking at them.

He flinched when the beaker was taken, and before he could spew an apology, the contents of the beaker splattered out and all over Eddie’s hand.

“Oh, crap!”

Waylon lunged forward without thinking, diving right into the lion’s den as he snatched handy paper towels and a bottle of water provided for the experiments. He was splashing some on Eddie’s hand and dabbing instantly where the solution had made its contact.

Too late he realized what the hell he was doing and felt his heart plummet.

He peeked up, hesitated.

“S-Sorry, I…”

 

Shit, what did he say in this situation? How had he gone from being late to the predicament he found himself in now? Yet all he could think of was what an ass he had been, not even introducing himself before assuming Eddie needed help.

“I’m Waylon Park,” he blurted out, unable to hear the class sniggering. “But...you...probably already knew that from when I came in. I just...shit, sorry, it wasn’t cool of me to come over without even saying hi, so hi, or--”

He bit his tongue hard, staring up, his hands still poised around Eddie’s, gently.

“...Sorry,” he said quieter, “I...just thought you could use a hand since, you know, you didn’t have a lab partner...”

“Yeah...Just...leave me alone, alright Park?” Eddie growled, snapping his hand away from the persistent new student. Really, this was the kind of messy attention he really, really didn’t want. He might not be the new kid, but he’d been perfectly content to be the invisible one. Eddie might have the body for a bully, but he sure as hell wasn’t one in his own mind. And he only ever defended himself when others came after him. Or thought about coming after him. Sometimes, a preemptive strike to protect himself later on was worth it.

Eddie was painfully aware of how the others were watching, even Trager’s attention wandered over now. 

“Just leave me the fuck alone.” he hissed between clenched teeth.

“Hey, Park, buddy, there’s plenty to do at our table, okay, don’t go expanding into polish territory. They got history with that.”

Miles slung an easy arm around his new lab partner, distancing him from Eddie and drawing the gazes to himself. He basked in the stares.

And he also brought Waylon safely back to their own table.

“Dude. What was that? You got a penchant for picking a fight with the biggest guy you see? Cause I gotta tell ya, I might not have shoulders like that, but I’m fast and mean and if you’re gonna pick a fight with the best, I’m your man.”

Waylon took a shaky breath, the spell over him broken too late for comfort. He huddled close to Miles, painfully aware of the giggling and stares on his back, especially that of Eddie’s gaze. What had overcome him, he didn’t know, but he cursed it. Not once had he been the type to interfere or offer a hand, and here, on his first day, he had gotten up and approached the guy with the worst reputation in school.

The comedy of errors for what deity spitted him today was not over.

“Jesus, fuck,” he whispered to Miles, “I don’t...I have no clue. I just...I don’t know, I don’t know. God, do you think he’s got my number now? Shit, I can’t handle having to hide in my locker again at a new school.”

Before Miles could answer, Trager interrupted with, “Might I remind you all to postpone your mating attempts for a time after class, hm?” A chuckle. “Now that Mr. Park’s embarrassed himself fully for one day, back to work, everyone.”

Waylon tried not to groan, rubbing his face. 

“What have I done, Miles?” 

Miles patted him on the back, a look of pity in his eyes for a brief moment.

“Yeah, you doomed yourself kid. Gluskin’s not the shove-you-into-a-locker type. He’s the stalks-you-until-you’re-alone-and-gives-you-a-broken-collarbone-for-your-trouble type. But hey, everyone does stupid things on their first day, yeah? At least tell me you didn’t make him feel as stupid as he is whilst you were over there getting grabby?”

“Oh, God.”

Waylon collapsed into his hands, his spotlight of humiliation ebbing as the class continued their projects. He sensed it deep in his bones that it would flash upon him soon enough, probably the moment he stepped out into the precarious flow that was a highschool hallway.

“I grabbed him without thinking,” he said, staring at the lab in front of him, hoping it would call to him for a distraction. It didn’t.

He was the epitome of dread incarnate the remainder of the class, unable to reply to any ‘funny’ remarks Miles said, other than a groan or moan. They did finish the assignment, if only because Waylon needed his hands to keep busy so they wouldn’t shake or throttle himself for being so cursed.

When the bell shrieked him out of his intense lab-oriented concentration, the debacle with Eddie Gluskin came over him like a plague again.

Waylon dragged his bag onto his shoulder, looking over, then turning away fast before he could see if Gluskin had plans to stalk him, and then hurt him.

“The day can’t get worse,” he told Miles, waiting for other students to filter out, though he probably should have gone first to avoid being late to his next class.

Well, it was their fifteen minute break. He could spare a few minutes lingering to ensure his safety.

He swallowed and looked at his schedule. “After break, I um...have...great. Physical education. Do you think you could show me the gym and stop smiling, it wasn’t funny for me, you know.”

“Oh come on, lighten up Park, it’s your first fucking day!” Miles seemed all too willing to kite Waylon today, or at least babysit him until he got bored. Or distracted. Or both.

“I’m just trying to freak your shit. Gluskin’s probably gonna forget about you anyway. He’s not the serial bully he looks like. You already met the smug asshole who thinks he runs this place. Blaire is like...the slimy bullshit on Satan’s ass-cheek. Yeah, that just about fits.”

Waylon trailed after Miles, relying on his larger form to niche them a path through the halls. Miles might not be the guy who thought he owned the school, but it felt like the school recognized him as its rightful owner.

“Jeremy? He looks rather...well off, I guess,” Waylon said, grateful the mentioning of Eddie involved forgetting about his now-for-sure quiet existence. “What was he doing anyway? I wouldn’t think a guy who ‘ran’ the school would be on hall pass duty?”

“Were you home schooled? Blaire’s a little model student. Never late, never misses a day. Give a little asswipe like him a smidgen of power, and he’ll suck your dick forever. Well, maybe not literally. You know he’s the principal’s grandson, right?”

Miles strolled towards the gym, which could be smelled more than seen by now. Teenage boys and their locker room vapors had a distinct odour about them you couldn’t miss. Feet, sweat, socks and an overwhelming stench of cheap aerosol deodorants.

Waylon grunted and decided not to push the matter. He was a beggar now and couldn’t choose. Plus, it seemed the more he brought up Jeremy with the hall situation, he was burying himself deeper in a humiliation hole, even if he couldn’t figure out why.

“I was for a little,” he pointed out, nose wrinkling at the smell.

God, the locker room. The bane of existence for his kind. He wasn’t big like most guys his age, stuck on a slender slope where, from the back, you could think he was a girl who either hadn’t hit her hip ratio yet or was the kind who never got them.

He considered Jeremy again though. A grandson of a principal. Well, that said much.

“Looks like I’m meeting all the curious people today,” he said, standing by the locker room but not going in. “Thanks for showing me the way. You didn’t have to. I appreciate it.” He hesitated before asking, “Since we’re still on break, I was wondering if there was...you know, any info I should keep in mind to survive the rest of my day?”

“Jeez, you take an arm when you’re given a hand, don’tcha?” Miles scratched his head, which only made his hair more perfect than it already was. Apparently, no amount of tousle could upset the Upshur do.

“Keep your head down, don’t piss people off, don’t assume they need your help, don’t call Chris Walker a pig even if it’s hard, you’ll see at lunch...aaand...hm...don’t give Manera any sass. That’s our janitor. He’s fucking scary and I’m pretty sure he eats kids that get on his nerves.”

Miles threw up a casual finger, turning and strutting back down the hallway.

“Peace out, Park. You’ll survive. Welcome to Mount Shithole Highschool.”

Waylon sighed heavily as Miles flashed him a finger (what was that?), navigating through the crowds with natural ease. True, Waylon had asked for more than he should (for survival), but Miles seemed to relish in the attention. 

Welcome indeed.

Shit.


	2. The Passenger

Well, physical education went about as miserably as Waylon expected. At the end of it, he could feel more than hear the bigger guys reveling in his lack of stamina. They didn’t jeer as badly as his old school, but it felt awful all the same, especially when he was left huffing and puffing and fucking sore.

He wasn’t the type for endurance, even if he was fast.

He was almost late to his next class, because he had to wait to shower when the others had finished. He’d never gotten the camaraderie of naked men showering alongside other naked men, and he didn’t trust his eyes not to wander. That was a matter altogether he didn’t want to grapple with today.

But, there was relief in his next class. It was a computer class that required his passing of assessments to enter. It proved to be the oasis he needed. The soft clack of keys, the click of the mouse, it was bliss.

It was a shame it had to end. He was able to forget all the drama of the morning.

And now he was thrust into it again as he treaded into the discord that was high school lunch. Like the newbie he felt, he stood at the mouth of the beast, scanning for an available spot. The cafeteria was indoors, very nice, and categorized with an order he might have understood had he been there the first day of school.

There was a plateau of steps in the back where students grazed, various tables, benches, and open space on the floor. Maybe he should take the risk of seeing if he could eat his lunch in privacy somewhere on school campus outside?

“Park!”

Waylon tensed. Secretly, and he hated to admit it, he had hoped to find Miles or be approached by the taller student. Instead, he turned in time to see Blaire wearing a new line of smile.

“You look enough like a new kid?” Blaire asked, stepping right up to him.

Waylon managed a half smile.

“Yeah…”

“Heard about what happened with Gluskin. You got some balls. I wouldn’t expect that of you.”

“What? You know about it?”

“Fucking whole school knows it,” Blaire said, seeming happy about that.

Waylon tried not to feel like people were looking at him again. “Great. As if I didn’t make enough of a fool of myself.”

“Don’t worry about it. Come on.”

Waylon blinked after him, then realized Blaire was taking him to a premium table with people too good-looking for the most part. He paused at the end, then felt Blaire’s hand nudging him to sit. Waylon was feeling like he’d seen this in a movie once.

“Um…” He stared at the others, who had gone quiet upon his approach, and were analyzing him.

“What? You rather stand alone up there?” Blaire asked, taking the spot beside him, thigh to thigh. “Think of it as a nice way of welcoming you. Sucks to be the new kid.”

Waylon felt dwarfed where he sat. He looked at his plain lunch bag.

“Ah, thanks, but...I don’t want to interrupt or be a buzzkill-”

“Of course you’re not. Why would I bring you over if I thought you were any of those things?”

“No. I mean...well, I heard you were...kind of a big shot.”

Blaire’s smile wilted. “Did Upshur say that?”

“What? What made you think it was h-”

“I know he has the same science class you do and that’s kind of his wording.” Blaire waved off any protests Waylon might have. “You’re better off staying away from him. He’s only interested in knowing the dirty details about everyone. A real sceptic kind of guy.”

“He seems nice.”

“If he does, it’s for his own good.”

Waylon looked back down at his food. It had been too much to ask for a quiet crevice to crawl in and eat in peace. A hard nudge had him look up again.

Blaire nodded in a direction. Waylon saw Eddie again (hard to miss him) receiving a meal from one of the cooks on the sideline.

“That’s the poor man’s lunch,” Blaire explained. He was smirking. Not a good sign, Waylon decided. “Hey, Gluskin! Come here.”

Blaire curled his finger not unlike a master would do to his dog.

The cafeteria was a crowded and noisy place, but somehow, the attention still followed Blaire and by extension, his new pet Waylon.

Eddie twitched a little where he stood, hands tight on his tray. He almost never could afford the regular lunch, and it wasn’t seldom he actually had to work in the cafeteria afterwards to pay off his own meals, so to say. It was better than being hungry, and Eddie never cared for the laughter of others on his account. They didn’t do it to his face, not anymore and so he could ignore them all.

But not when Jeremy Blaire called him out like that.

Eddie held onto his tray tightly as he came over, glancing warily at the table. He stopped a good distance away, keeping his lunch, which was more or less just half a sandwich and an apple, safely far enough not to be whacked out of his hands.

“What do you want, Blaire?” he sounded bored, but the touch of an accent betrayed his nerves.

Waylon felt like a coward for keeping quiet when he should have been telling Blaire to leave Eddie alone, if only because he had the aversion to getting on the guy’s worser side. It pulled at his heart when he saw Eddie actually come over.

Miles wasn’t joking. The power twirling around Blaire’s finger was palpable enough that Eddie listened to it.

“There you go again with those bad manners,” Blaire said, smiling wider. “I heard you were rude today to my new man here, Park.”

“Um, no,” Waylon interjected quickly, “it...wasn’t like that. It was my fault, I-”

Blaire squeezed his shoulder tightly. “Not at all. From what I understand, you were trying to help. After all, it’s no secret Gluskin isn’t exactly...Yale material. I’d like you to apologize, Gluskin. You know, to show what a good sport you are.”

Eddie didn’t move from where he stood, and there was plenty of him. The young man clearly liked to either excessively exercise, or, more likely, had to work on the side of school that granted him such a physique. A guy like Miles would have carried it with enough charm to make him the ultimate social magnet.

But Eddie didn’t know how to make use of that kind of thing. He didn’t want to, either. He just wanted to eat lunch in peace by the stairs, alone with his walkman, like he always did.

“It’s nothing to do with you Blaire. You weren’t there.”

But just because Eddie wasn’t a social butterfly, it did not mean he would let a slick little snitch bully him.

Waylon deflated, ducking his head. Pitiful, he knew, but it had gotten him by so far. He tried to overlook the sensations of his chest and stomach, or the urge to look at Eddie.

“Ah, well, you see, it does.” Blaire uncoiled and straightened like a cobra, hands on the table. “I don’t like you being rude to any of my guys, and I think you should apologize. It’d be a damn shame if my grandfather learned that you were not only causing problems, but the incident with Andrew last week wasn’t actually an ‘accident’ on the stairs, hm?”

“He tried to-!” Eddie stopped himself from bursting out, but his knuckles were turning white where he held the tray. The population of the cafeteria was staring anyway, giggling, whispering, doing a damn good job of putting the spotlight of their teenage lives on Eddie’s head.

He swallowed down the anger, knew it would do him no good to get into more trouble. He was already struggling, and he didn’t need to give Principal Blaire any reason to throw him out, or hold him back a grade yet again.

“Please, Blaire, I don’t need any more strikes on my record. Can’t you just...forget about it?”

Pleading never helped, but Eddie had to try.

Blaire quirked a brow and glanced over at Waylon, triumphant.

Waylon almost winced at Eddie’s tone. He wanted to beg to, for the whole thing to be erased as effectively as erasing a whiteboard.

“Sounds like an apology,” Blaire said, attention detached from Eddie now. He waved the guy off. “Good boy. Now, go on. We don’t have anything more to say to you.”

And just like that, Waylon felt shittier than ever. He didn’t look to see what kind of look Eddie had, or where he wandered off to, probably no better than a dog after a beating.

There he sat, Blaire chatting like nothing ill had happened, and Waylon feeling sicker as he responded mechanically, forcing emotion where it wasn’t. He went along, pathetic as he felt, until he suddenly straightened and gathered his stuff.

“Shit, sorry,” he said. “I totally forgot I had to see my homeroom teacher. I missed it this morning. Ah, thanks for the spot.”

“Oh?” Blaire was watching him too keenly. “We’ll see you later then.”

Waylon tossed a casual affirmative, lacking the balls Blaire claimed he had to turn the guy down. He had been wrong about the day getting worse. He had been miserable enough with the morning, but what went down with Eddie with Blaire...that wasn’t right.

It wouldn’t be until later that Waylon recognized his emotion as anger.

Until that time, he occupied the rest of his lunch sneaking around, proving how foolish he was by looking for Eddie. He had to though. It felt wrong to not to.

It took longer than he planned, but he spotted Eddie eventually, huddled in a corner where students weren’t allowed during lunch.

Waylon swallowed and watched him a while, then, slowly, came over.

His heartbeat sounded so loud he was sure it would startle Eddie.

“H-Hey,” he called. “Eddie?”

Eddie didn’t hear him, the earbuds of his rather ancient walkman lodged firmly in as he tried to make an apple taste like a pie by imagination alone. That, and the scent from the cafeteria. He noticed the shadow falling onto his corner and jerked a little, pulling out the earbuds. A tiny doodle of some very old music, probably from the twenties or thirties at best filled the air for a brief moment as Eddie stared at Waylon, on edge, defensively, searching for a sign of Blaire.

“What’s your problem with me, Park? Why are you...what do you want? To bother me more? You can tell Blaire I got the message.”

Like a wounded animal, Eddie stood ready to flee rather than fight.

Waylon’s posture softened as much as Eddie’s poised for flight. Of all things, he didn’t really expect Eddie’s need to flee what he saw as a bully. Waylon would have laughed if he weren’t so surprised; to think someone saw him as the big bad guy.

“No, no,” he blurted out, waving his hands in front of him. “That’s not why I’m here at all. Blaire...we’re not,” he shook his head, dared to take a few steps closer.

He looked at Eddie’s meager lunch. Despite his girth, Waylon had the gnawing sensation that Eddie didn’t really eat that much. Because he couldn’t.

Waylon licked his lips then pulled out a wrapped sandwich. He extended his hand gradually out, offering in hand.

“Here. My mom still likes to make my lunches, lame I know, and she always packs me a lot extra in case something happens. So…” He tried a smile. “It’s a BLT.”

Eddie watched the offering gradually come a little closer as Waylon extended his arm, but he made no move to take it, or even consider it. Although BLT sounded like something his stomach would appreciate and thank him for all day, the caution and pride in his head was not something overruled by a growling stomach.

“What’s your game, Park? You think it’s funny, right? That I’m poor? Is that why you’re doing this? It’s some big joke to you, right?”

There was less of a need to flee now, but Eddie looked at Waylon with such absolute hurt, it would have been impossible to do anything but stand still and look at each other.

“Go back to your friends, Park. They’ll laugh with you, at least. No point making the jokes by yourself.”

Waylon pulled the sandwich back to his chest at the accusation, taken aback by the pain lacing Eddie’s voice. He recognized it, if only a modicum of it, having been on the other end of a bully more than once.

His stubbornness rooted him to the corner he shared with Eddie, or rather, the corner he invaded given the way Eddie looked at him.

Waylon thrust out his hand and placed the sandwich directly by Eddie, carefully.

“They’re not my friends,” he said, then sniffed as he held his head higher up. “What he said...I’m not part of that game he’s playing. And I don’t think it’s funny. Do I look like I’m having a grand old time? You’re the one who had scared me at first, you know!”

He realized his voice had gotten higher than he intended, and reeled it back down.

“Sorry...I’m...having a crap kind of day,” he said, looking down. Then, he fished out a wrapped pastry, and sat down, not too close. He picked at the food and popped a piece into his mouth, not really hungry but wanting to keep busy since he made the lousy decision to sit down.

“It’s not okay he makes fun of you for being poor, you know.” He peeked at Eddie. “I was going to ask why you didn’t slug him for that but I guess he has other ways to fight back. I wish he hadn’t been the first guy I bumped into.”

As he rambled on to Eddie, he took out an identical pastry and nudged it over for Eddie to take if he eventually decided that he was hungry enough.

Eddie stuck around rather politely, listening to Waylon go on. It was entirely weird for him, and uncomfortable, that this new person just kind of invaded his space, sat down, even began to eat like he could just claim this corner as his now.

The pastry sat untouched, even though Eddie mentally devoured it ten times by now. Eddie could also feel Blaire’s gaze from across the cafeteria, and it wasn’t pleased. Waylon was Blaire’s new toy, and he seemed too drawn to Eddie for anyone’s comfort, including Eddie’s.

“Can you just...be quiet for a moment?” Eddie eventually pressed out through clenched teeth, already looking severely stressed to be sitting next to the newest chatterbox of Mount Massive.

“If you aren’t like Blaire...stick with Upshur. He’s better. Still a dick, but at least a nicer one than Blaire. I have to..go. Please, don’t come bother me again, Park. I don’t need the trouble, or the strikes.”

By the time Waylon realized how much stress he’d burdened the poor guy with. Poor in both literal and metaphorical sense. Shit, it was the hand grabbing all over again. It was a bad habit he caught too late every time, a sudden burst of activity that usually got him in trouble instead of helped himself or anyone else. Pathetic that he couldn’t utilize it to talk Blaire down from bothering Eddie.

“Oh...Fuck, I’m…”

Waylon looked at himself, then over at Eddie. The guy had let him ramble on and was leaning away from him as though it physically upset to share his spot.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Eddie, I didn’t…” He gathered his stuff and scrambled to stand up. “Look, I…”

He felt flustered.

“Sorry,” he said again, and dashed away.

Worst day ever.

**-x-**

Waylon had a lot of stories to tell about his first day, and shared none of them with his parents. Day two began with better promise, in the sense that he arrived on time. He felt like shit though. Eddie wouldn’t stop occupying the free space of his mind. It wasn’t a lot, but his presence was as big as his size.

He’d really fucked up, and he didn’t even really know how he had.

So he should have let it go, gone by with his head down, never bothering another soul and find a way to ward off Blaire’s smile his way.

Why was he then scribbling a note and sticking it to a paperbag.

It was during science, when he and Miles had free time because he had done the bulk of the work yesterday. Miles was a refreshing sight, but right now, Waylon was jerking away from him so he couldn’t read his note.

“Stop asking, it’s not for you,” he muttered again, stuffing it in the bag. He glanced at the clock, counted the last few seconds, ignoring Miles.

Bell rang.

He hadn’t looked at Eddie the whole period, but now he peeked back. Students filtered out once again, and yet again Waylon lingered. He looked at Miles, eyes wide, then got up and slapped the bag lightly on the lab Eddie was still at, slow to clean up.

“Sorry I was a dick yesterday!” was the terrible explanation before he was hauling ass out of the hallway, doing a great job of impersonating Frankenstein’s monster in speed walk.

“Yo captain tactless, wait the fuck up!” Miles was tearing out of the room after him, not stopping his rapid pace until he caught up with Waylon and slung him into his arm, sort of, more a measure to keep him from bolting further than necessary.

“What the hell was that? And where were you at lunch yesterday man? I was gonna let you sit with me.”

Eddie waited until all the others were gone. He generally did, it gave him peace and quiet to clean up and sometimes, when Trager was in a good mood, he’d give him a helping hand with everything he had not managed in the lesson.

Today though, he wanted to know what Park could possibly need to shove at him in a paper bag. Eddie didn’t understand what the guy’s deal was, but at least he wasn’t lingering around today.

Within the sanctity of the fragile bag was a lunch fit for two, a side effect Waylon had when making his own meals due to having a mom who made too much for one person. Wrinkled on top of the food was a note, with various scratched out words and with the penmanship of a boy who realized how futile and probably dumb the endeavor was.

_Hey Eddie_

_I know this is really dumb, the kind of dumb you only see in movies, but here I am writing it because I feel bad for bothering you yesterday more than once. I just wanted to clear the air, you don't have to accept it or whatever, I just wanted to let it out. I'm not okay with what Blaire did, or how I got in your personal space._

_Here's lunch. It's not because you're poor or I feel pity for you. I'm just trying to make up for the bother and I'm really not able to do that with anything besides food. I made it myself, lamer I know, and you can smash it or throw it away if you want, but I made it and it's for you, and I'm sorry. I didn't say it in person today in case you didn't want me to bug you._

_P.S. Was that golden oldies you were listening to? I liked it._

_P.S.S. fuck Jeremy Blaire_

_Waylon Stupid Park_

 

Eddie read the note in the science room, and then again as he retreated to his usual spot. This time, without getting his scraps from the kitchen. This lunch...it would be plenty for later, he could even afford to nibble a little now.

Something in Eddie dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, there was, for once, someone decent not actually pulling a prank on him. Maybe someone just wanted to do him a kindness for once.

Even if the food would contain laxatives or something equally nasty, for now, Eddie liked feeling that little bit of warmth.

The author of said note had let Miles drag him. Not like he had the strength to stop him, and the stupor he was in for Miles having followed him made it that much easier to bully him around the hallway out of other students’ ways.

“What? I was...it was nothing. Just dropping Eddie something off,” he said, and when Miles looked at him hard, he blushed and hated his tongue for betraying him. “I made him lunch. I was an ass yesterday, Blaire was worse in front of him, and I shouldn’t have made it or wrote him a fucking note like a schoolgirl but I did and couldn’t stop myself.”

He caught up to the other thing Miles had said. “Wait, you were looking for me? Not hard enough. Blaire claimed me. And I think he wants me to have lunch with him again today.”

“Fuck what Blaire wants. Shit, Park, you just got here, you don’t get to follow the herd yet. Stick with the goat.” Miles continued to navigate through the halls, greeting people left and right and receiving more than a few angry glances. But the hate-stares bounced off of Miles like water pearled on his leather jacket.

“You made Gluskin a little love-lunch, huh? Are you trying to get him to be your beefy boyfriend so you can get Blaire off of your back? Clever, clever, I knew you were a smart one.” Miles only half listened to what Waylon said, but he got the essentials.

“But you’re wasting your time. Gluskin just doesn’t like people. Believe me, I’ve seen people try. He just blocks them out, doesn’t matter if you treat him nice or not. But come on, you have to meet some actual decent human beings in this godawful hell-hole, right? EY LISA!”

They’d reached the cafeteria, and immediately, a head popped up above the rest, a beautiful crest of black curls and sharp amber eyes having spotted Miles at the entrance.

“You bringing us the fresh meat? About time Miles, you wouldn’t shut up about him yesterday.”

Waylon tried to tell Miles plenty of things, both about Eddie and Blaire, but the guy forged through with his own agenda. In a way, he seemed similar to Blaire, but the grip he had on Waylon lacked the threat and menace as Blaire’s hand.

Well, he supposed he could fuck what Jeremy said, if for today.

There was a pretty girl smiling and waving him over, and a group of people he’d been neglecting by the looks of it. They only had break now, but it was still the same as spending a full lunch period as far as Waylon felt. They were nice, friendly, the kind of guys that said a lot about what kind of decent fellow Miles must be.

It was easy to think little about Eddie as he got introduced to the new batch of people.

There was the promise of more revelry (Waylon had even laughed a couple of times) to come for lunch. For now, he had to break away to get to gym, and he promised to find them for lunch. Blaire seemed like a distant nightmare by comparison.

On his way back, he opted to take the isolated hallway to the gym, expecting to eschew Blaire or any of his lackeys. Which was probably a lot of people.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to spot Eddie, in that same spot again. After all, part of him had taken this way to see the guy, right?

But he wasn’t going to repeat yesterday’s mistake. His shadow interrupted Eddie’s peace, so he kept his distance.

However, he smiled and waved, and kept walking.

Eddie watched him like a cornered street cat, ready to leave and wary, but curious. When Waylon just kept walking Eddie decided he could relax, if it was just Park who came by. Even if he came back to sit and babble at him again. As long as Blaire wasn’t around, Park was okay.

Eddie hadn’t waved back and he sure as hell hadn’t smiled his way. Yet Waylon felt better as he passed by, feeling like he was mending yesterday’s shit. He might have almost had a spring his step if he were the type for that.

He stepped outside through the clear doors, tempted to glance back and look at Eddie.

Blaire waited on the other side.

“Park, there you are.”

Waylon’s skin almost flew off.

“B-Uh, Jeremy...Hey.”

Blaire chuckled. One arm went up and braced against the wall. There was a space around him. Waylon felt contained all the same. He could only look up and tense up.

“I take it you had a better morning today. No tardiness, I see.”

How did he know exactly?

Waylon just nodded.

“Good. I’d hate you to get a bad record already.” Blaire shrugged. “Anyway, hoping we can chat at lunch a bit?”

“Oh, I, uh, kind of had plans.”

“Cancel them.” Blaire stepped back, winked, and didn’t move as Waylon merely skirted around him and hurried to gym.

He had not signed up for this drama.

All through gym, he’d been worse than ever before. That said something given his penchant for falling down, being whacked, smacked, and bumped by ball and body limbs alike. Jeremy’s tone had put him off more than anything else. Why did he bother with him? Was it a way to bother Gluskin? No, that didn’t seem right. He had ammunition without needing Waylon.

The questions left him more frustrated and irritated that he almost forgot to shower. He had been stewing on a bench, waiting for the others to leave that he hardly had time to undress and hurry inside.

By the time Waylon got into the showers, they were mostly devoid of life. Mostly. There was one running, and the sound of water hitting tile was permeated by someone humming. It wasn’t something particularly modern sounding, what with the intonation of well, what should be a barber shop quartet, really. It had that oldies quality to it.

In the very far corner, that someone was filling out the shower ‘stall’ (a tiny, tiled wall separated it from the next) very broadly.  
Upon hearing the patter of water, Waylon debated it was worth getting marked late if it meant avoiding interaction or acknowledgement of another guy in the same space where he was naked. Suddenly he had the notion that Eddie must have felt that way when he bombarded him with lunch yesterday.

He paused at the singing. It was singing, he confirmed, as he stepped closer to the stall. Steam curled around it and he got close enough that it reached his feet.

The voice relaxed him. It wasn’t punctuated by the precision of a taught tone, or riddled with vibratos to demonstrate the capability of the singer. Instead it was the kind of voice that Waylon could close his eyes to, the easygoing voice of better days, of a simpler time.

Waylon had to peek.

His jaw went slack.

He didn’t have to guess to know whose body this was. Muscle carved the overall shape of Eddie Gluskin. Waylon could see that when Eddie had been clothed. This, however, felt like he was looking at a sculpture come to life, the ones with grooves for muscles people had but rarely manifested for others to see.

And it was all over Eddie’s body, from his back (Waylon might have had a preference for that kind of back) to his front, from his shoulders to his calves. Every scrap of Eddie Waylon got an eyeful of, and he did get an eyeful, left his legs quivering, while the song made him smile.

Jesus, it was really hot in here suddenly.

“Wow,” he breathed when Eddie had finished singing, unaware he was really even talking. “Holy shit, Eddie.”

Eddie nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the voice. The undignified way in which such a well-shaped body could scramble was really a different kind of spectacular.

“How long have you been watching me?!” He snapped, the towel from the nearby wall hastily draped around his privates. To say he was self-conscious was the least part of the problem. He felt so naked here in front of Waylon. Not because he had in fact been naked and Waylon got a good long look at his ass and possibly more, but because of the scars. Eddie pressed himself to the wall, staring down Waylon with accusation.

“I didn’t...is Gluskin that hard to pronounce for you Park?”

God, he really needed to re-evaluate his position on this....this creeper.

Waylon couldn’t go any redder, and staggered back as gracelessly as Eddie scrambled. Once again, he recognized at the worst time the position his curiosity had put him in, and he held his hands up to show a pathetic display of no harm.

“But...your name is Eddie,” he said stupidly, lowering his arms. “I didn’t mean to...creep you out. I was gonna shower and,” he smiled at the memory, the song eclipsing what concerns might had spawned at the scars, “wow, Eddie. You sing so well. I loved it.”

“Stop calling me Eddie. I didn’t....no one calls me that.” Eddie didn’t know what to make of Waylon Park. The guy seemed utterly concerned with following him around and making his life uncomfortable. But not like Blaire did, or any of his close ‘friends’. No, Park gave him lunch, talked too much, and crept into the showers to hear him sing. Eddie didn’t know what kind of behaviour this was at all, and even less how he ought to respond to it. With anger? It didn’t seem necessary. With what then?

“I like that song.” Eddie shrugged. Maybe if he just...tried, to be patient, maybe he’d find out what Park really wanted.

Waylon flipped from honest uncertainty to giddy preening in the time it took for his heart to escalate. It wasn’t exactly a conversation, and Eddie hadn’t responded positively to his creeping. Still, it was something, and Waylon didn’t know why he had ached for that.

“It’s your name. Why wouldn’t people call you by it?” Waylon shrugged off the matter. “The song. It reminds me of what you were listening to. Golden oldies it’s called I think. You sing it well.”

He kept his eyes on Eddie’s face, but the memories of his nudity kept Waylon feeling like he needed a cold shower soon.

“Look, I know we got off to a...weird start. I’m not playing any games. Look at me, Eddie, really? I’m a newbie, and I’m at least two years younger than anyone in my class, I’m small, I get mistaken for a girl in the back sometimes, I can talk too much, I am too curious for my own good, my mom is super doting and still makes my lunches, and I am proof that being shoved into a locker is not just something that happens in the movies.”

He gave a weak, little sad smile. “I’m a nobody, Eddie.”

“Nobody’s a nobody. We’re all somebody,” Eddie replied, but it didn’t sound as if it had just come to him in that moment. It must have been something he contemplated beforehand, though he certainly gave nothing away now.

“You’re a really chatty somebody. And you’re smart too, right? That’s why they all want you to be their friend,” Eddie liked that he could sort of pull on his clothes as they spoke, which meant less awkward nudity for him.

Waylon’s smile lost the sad edges to it. Watching Eddie had him shamelessly looking over him again, then stopped when he realized his hormones were getting the better of him. The smile stayed.

“Yeah, I think the more chatty I am, the more awkward I am feeling.” He tried to pretend he wasn’t so tiny compared to Eddie. Eddie was easily double his size in all ways. In...all ways. Waylon blushed and looked away, coughing.

“But, um, yeah, I suppose they want me for some reason or another. I’m...smart, I suppose. I’m really good with computers, or most things technical. Except cars.” He looked back when Eddie was mostly clothing than skin. “And you’re...kinda wise. That talk about no one being a nobody.”

“That’s not wisdom,” Eddie had gathered all of his belongings and smoothed the small patch of hair he kept longer back over his head. He looked his age, older than the rest of the grade, more built, more experienced, more troubled.

“That’s just experience.” He seemed to hesitate, unsure if he could simply leave Waylon’s presence.

“If you...I guess you can keep...calling me Eddie. It makes a change.” he shrugged, careful with this first olive branch to psycho city.

“Wisdom comes from experience, you know,” Waylon pointed out, then cleared his throat. “Sorry. Not trying to be a smartass. Eddie.”

He liked the sound of the name, particularly when everyone else called the guy Gluskin. It shouldn’t have meant anything, and yet it did. Waylon felt as if he’d just dismissed Miles’ claim that no one could get to Eddie Gluskin.

Maybe they weren’t annoying enough.

“I’ll, uh, let you get going. Still got to shower,” he gestured to the plastic bag with his items in it, “but...see you around.”

He made to turn, not wanting to further stress Eddie. He stopped before getting in his stall and threw over his shoulder, “The croissant sandwiches. They, uh, have cheese. I should have checked if you were lactose intolerance.”

“I’m...not. Thank you though?” Eddie decided that this had overstepped his weekly interaction quota, definitely, and he needed to space himself away from people for the rest of the day.

“....See you around, Park. Waylon?”

The last word, the tentative try at the tiny creature’s name had been on his way out, with Eddie stood at the door of the locker room.

Waylon picked up Eddie’s voice even as the shower sputtered to life. He had already hung his towel and stood naked in his stall, so peering out felt too intimate for either of them. He smiled wider and hope it caught onto his voice.

“Yeah,” he said. “See you, Eddie.”


	3. Welcome to the Jungle

While Waylon couldn’t claim he had befriended Eddie, whatever it was he had founded between them propped his mood up for the rest of the day. Maybe the fact he had rectified things with the one who had seen him as a bully, still a laughable concept, had proven he was capable of doing the right thing.

Not one for extending morality into action, Waylon had too long cast his eyes down and sped up his pace if it meant avoiding harm to himself. Thus was the nature of someone in his position, wasn’t it? What was the point of proclaiming a stand when you’d get your legs broken and throat punched so you couldn’t do it in the future?

No, Waylon opted for the life of survival. It was by no means one of leisure, but he knew he had cut the amounts of glares and fists his way, or worse, by keeping to himself. For the most part it worked, too, provided he stuck with it and forbade his curiosity from getting piqued.

Sure, he might have not have reversed his expectations entirely. After all, he hadn’t spoken against Jeremy Blaire. Talking to Eddie though had done enough to, well, something.

It was the boost he needed to seek Miles out at lunch and take part in his good company, and those of what he liked to think were new friends. Lisa was especially friendly to him, chatting him up, touching his shoulder and arm periodically.

Certainly gave him an ego boost, though he wouldn’t know until much later that she was indeed flirting with him.

For now, he sought comfort in good people, relief making it easier for him to talk despite his predisposition to stick to himself.

They even invited him to tag along for the football game that coming Friday. He almost declined were it not for Miles’ insistence. The kid had the seductive prowess of a playboy with the skills of a salesman.

Waylon supposed he could go, if only to observe what Miles referred to as an initiative for the truth. Apparently people showed more true colors at sporting events, the kind worth taking copious notes or videotape of. The way Miles grinned as he explained it seemed off-balance, but promise of a good time was in short supply.

So why not?

Waylon set his first group date.

**-x-**

Friday came with the gaiety typical of the weekday with an added dose of enthusiasm for the game. From what Waylon experienced, the school had a fierce competitor’s spirit. Why shouldn’t they with the many wins they earned?

Not that Waylon particularly cared, but if a win meant happier students who had no reason to glare his way, the better. The days leading up to the game had gone by smoothly too. In regards to Blaire, Waylon believed Miles over exaggerated the student’s menace.

After ditching the ‘prince’ of school, Waylon made it a hobby to avoid his path. He wasn’t the only smart kid in school. There was no need to seek him out, and with Miles’ support, he felt accomplished. He hadn’t seen Blaire nearby within the few days it took to reach game night.

Eddie, however, Waylon did see. Still anxious about disturbing his peace, Waylon kept his distance. He made a point to smile and nod to Eddie if he saw him, and maybe a couple of days he had dropped off a lunch bag with his extra portions. Whether or not Eddie ate them was another matter; Waylon spent his lunch with Miles and company.

He was spending the time with them again as they huddled from the bleachers, Miles on the edge so he could hop off and do whatever it is he did during games. With the winter’s chill, more people nestled closer in formation not unlike when the teams grouped together before breaking into the game.

Waylon had secretly hoped to find Eddie among the crowd somewhere, but there were too many people to keep track, and Lisa kept warranting his attention.

Especially when it came to Chris Walker and the stories she had about him. The guy was big all around. Great for a football player.

After another round of chuckling, Waylon scooted across the bleachers to hop off. “I’m gonna go inside and use the bathroom. If Miles comes back tell him I won’t be long.”

In all honesty, he’d been meaning to bring up Eddie with Miles, maybe invite him to sit with them. After a few days with his new pals, Waylon thought they’d be a good bunch for Eddie. He hoped.

Then again, he might have had a bias. Not only did he have a common core of being the victim to bullying, Waylon couldn’t deny any longer that he liked Eddie’s physical attributes, and thought too long about them unwillingly late at night.

Teenage hormones didn’t spare him, master of repressing (not).

He power-walked to the building nearest the field, which allowed students and family to enter to make use of the bathroom. With the game full throttle, it was empty when Waylon went in.

On the way out of the bathroom, it wasn’t empty.

Blaire flashed a smile at him. It lacked humor.

“Hey, Park.”

Waylon didn’t miss the two beasts flanking Blaire. They weren’t exactly huge, but they didn’t have to be. Their expressions, the way their fingers continuously flexed into fists, it had Waylon take a step back.

“Jeremy,” he breathed. “Hey. Er...good game, huh?”

“Of course. We always win.”

Waylon cracked a half-smile. The three before him wouldn’t budge from the door.

“So, how have you been adjusting?”

“...Fine. Good. I’m settling fine by now.”

“Great to hear. I’d hate to think you experience here isn’t a positive one. I take pride in the school.”

Waylon wanted to point out it wasn’t his school to run. He nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate...all you’ve done.”

“I missed you at lunch.”

Waylon swallowed.

“Yeah, sorry. I had already made plans and I felt bad to cancel. I like sitting with them and...I don’t cramp your style so much.”

Blaire kept his smile in place. It hadn’t shifted an iota.

“Understandable,” he said, the clicks of his fancy shoes deafening in the small hallway.

Again, Waylon felt caged, staring up at the taller boy.

“Um, Jerem-”

“Look, I get it. You made friends. That’s cool. But be careful with Upshur is all I’m saying. I’m just looking out for you.”

Waylon frowned. “I don’t need to be looked out for.”

“No? That why you’re feeding the rat?”

“Eddie’s not a rat.”

Blaire exhaled and shook his head. “You’re a nice guy, Park. Naive, but nice. Be careful is all I’m saying, yeah?”

“I...yeah. Okay” Anything to get Blaire’s sweet scent off him. Like poisoned fruit.

Blaire nodded and eased back. “There’s a party going on in a couple weeks. Big one. I’d like you to come. A proper welcome to the city. Plus, you need to experience my hospitality.”

“Oh, that’s nice of you to invite me, but--”

“Trust me.” Blaire’s hand was fixed on the wall by his face. “I suggest you come. Bring Upshur even. Bet he’d love to get the scoop on some of the people there.”

Waylon worked on his lower lip, clenched his hands by his side.

“Really?” he asked.

Blaire nodded and stepped back fully. “Sure. Look, I get if I freaked you out. You’re nice and as someone my grandfather looks to to make sure things stay working smoothly, you can see why I got a little worried. I don’t want anything soiling the school’s name.”

Maybe he was too nice, because Waylon was starting to consider giving him the benefit of the doubt. Blaire was giving him the heebie jeebies, but the intentions might have spawned from a good place.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll come. If Miles does.”

“Great. I’ll give you the details later. There will be drinking, of course. You’re not that innocent to avoid that kind of festivity are you?”

Waylon grit his teeth. “I’m not.”

“Thought so. Maybe you can show me your computer skills at it too,” Blaire said, and his smile relaxed. “See you then, Park. Enjoy the game.”

He left with his entourage, but Waylon still felt his presence sticking to him.

He hung back in the hallway, needing the wall to brace himself.

**-x-**

“Still not sure if this is worth it. You know I’m gonna throw up in Blaire’s smug-ass face if I see him. Wait. That sounds like a brilliant idea. I’m amazing.” Miles filled the car with his voice, rendering the radio inferior and tickling Lisa’s humour. Somehow, going to Blaire’s little event had turned into a group outing for Miles’ usual crowd.

Which, if you went by recent ‘members’, now included Waylon, Lisa, a kind of quiet kid from Sweden named Simon who got into trouble for the weirdest things, Lisa’s rather melancholic friend Sarah, a fairly absent-minded British kid named Daniel and probably the least exciting in the whole line-up, a friendly guy named Alex.

All of them were friendly to Waylon, accepted him into their ‘ranks’ as easily as Miles had introduced him as ‘that new Park’.

And all of them were squeezed into Miles’ car, on their way to this party that Blaire had technically only invited two of them to.

“They better have something real to drink otherwise, I’m going home. Or to my grandmother’s. At least she always has a little bourbon around.” Sarah leaned her head on Waylon’s shoulder, sighing with ill contentment at the entire situation. Apparently, Lisa had convinced her to join the outing, and the pale girl with the gothic tendencies (rumoured to be a ‘witch’ by those with little imagination) would have rather done something, anything, else.

“Why didn’t you ask Gluskin to come, Way? That would have been fun.”

Miles gave a laugh up front about Sarah’s words.

“Are you kidding? He never would have come. Hey, look, we’re probably gonna go past his house. Try not to drool out of the window this time, kay Sarah? It’s kind of embarrassing to be seen with you.”

“I can’t help it. He’s really fucking hot. I’ll climb him like a tree one day, you’ll see.”

“You know, if he doesn’t give you a black eye like last time.”

“That was an accident. I’m still pissed he got into trouble because of that.” Sarah seemed to have quite the history with Eddie Gluskin. She leaned over Waylon’s lap (Simon had to ride up front, he got all sorts of issues in the back-seat) to look.

“There it is. Have a look Way. Don’t you feel sorry for him? Fuck.”

The house they passed belonged into some third-world country, surely. It was as dilapidated as the rest of the neighborhood, a house lived in by too many with too little. At least no broken furniture littered the front yard. As they passed by, the side entrance of a shed became visible, and standing out in the cold evening air was Eddie, swinging what was probably an axe down on something that was either an old chair or a coffee table.

“Shit, he’s there! Get down!” Sarah pulled down Waylon’s head, ignoring the fact that Miles waved from his window and continued to be fully visible.

Waylon hadn’t bothered arguing with Miles on bringing the others along. In fact, he relished in it, feeling secured in larger numbers. They all seemed eager to go while he preferred staying home with the company of his laptop.

Well, maybe he was a little curious for the hype.

He stayed quiet most of the drive over, allowing Sarah to deflate against him and mourn the lost opportunity of bringing Eddie Gluskin. Of course Waylon had considered inviting him, but Blaire and Eddie were a volatile mix. So, no.

It didn’t keep him from thinking about Eddie.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Blaire either, for very different, less pleasant reasons.

A hand had him shoved down between his knees. At the mention of Eddie, Waylon struggled to peer up, but Sarah proved her strength outmatched his (what he had to begin with), so he could only grunt. He was allowed to straighten after they had passed the crippled house.

“I wanted to talk to him,” he said.

Miles kept driving.

Waylon looked back, but saw no sign of the neighborhood anymore. Eddie’s house had been really sad. Damn.

Everyone seemed adjusted to that fact because they wouldn’t let him linger on it. Atop a hill, not a few miles away from the stretch of houses, Eddie’s included, that was more a scar on the city than an actual residential street, a mansion had been erected.

“Shit, that’s not a house,” Waylon said.

The mansion stretched over a lot of land, and every window had light exuding from it, making it look like its own beacon of light in the darkness. A highway curved down to a gate, where they had to pass clearance before they were buzzed in and, wouldn’t you figure, valet was waiting.

“It’s like he’s rubbing it in my face,” Waylon said as he watched the valet take a verbal assault from Miles about no dings and the like.

The party oozed out into the front of the house, so they followed the noise in. Though everyone there was dressed similarly to him, for the most part, he still felt underdressed. The caliber of this kind of edifice was beyond something he’d witnessed in person. It felt like the entire building was disappointed in him for coming.

There was noise everywhere. Laughter, shrieks, all in good fun, and music thumping from various corridors or rooms or something. He could smell food wafting from what had to be the kitchen.

He didn’t know where to go.

“Park!”

Impeccable timing as usual, Blaire waved at him from the top of winding stairs that looked more expensive than anything the Parks owned. All eight Parks together, probably. Blaire still had the taste of someone superior to his fellow students, but greeted them all with that kind of niceness people use to really be mean.

Waylon braced himself, sticking close to Miles as Blaire approached him at long last, as if they were being graced with a gift to see him descend the stairs in a leisurely manner.

“I see you brought the whole gang,” Blaire said.

Waylon shrugged a shoulder. “I thought you’d like to extend your...hospitality.”

“Clever, aren’t you? I like that.”

Blaire smirked, then dragged his eyes over to Miles.

“Well, far be it from me from letting you have your fun. If people see you and still act stupidly and spill their secrets, that’s their own fault. Just try to take it easy on the videotaping, hm?”

“You wish, Blaire,” Miles blew his mortal enemy a kiss, eye glued to his camera. He was going to have fun alright, snooping through this house. The party guests were less interesting, though there were plenty of asses that deserved permanent memories on Miles’ files.

“Alright, if anyone gets too drunk to ride back in my car without puking, you can walk home. That’s all. Disperse.”

As if they’d been trained for it, the little group did exactly that. Each member seemed to have a different agenda for the night. Only Lisa and Sarah remained with Waylon, ignoring Blaire.

“So, Waylon, you much of a dancer?” Lisa took him by the arm, sending Jeremy a look that would make a lion cower. This was her interest for the night, and Blaire would lose a hand if he encroached on Lisa’s territory. Even if they were in his house.

Sarah was more or less serving the third wheel attachment status, but she seemed unhappy to be here anyway.

Waylon turned his head this way and that as his friends, save for Lisa and Sarah, abandoned him. Clearly he lacked familiarity with their routines and schedules. Well, at least he hadn’t been abandoned entirely.

Blaire bid them a fun night, and stepped away, probably to keep tabs on Miles’ snooping.

As he caught up with what had happened, Waylon blinked a few times.

“Uh, I’m not,” he said, smiling her way. “I could use a drink though.”

He’d never really drank alcohol beyond a few sips. His cup was bright red, and one sip had him cringe. How did people drink this stuff, even with added sugar? Maybe the taste wasn’t the point.

Waylon downed half of it, coughed, and smiled again as Lisa laughed. He liked how she laughed, like it was never really at his expense.

In terms of partying, Waylon didn’t have a terrible time. He made a point to include Sarah in conversation, though after a while she waved them off and parted ways, on the hunt for something to appease her meticulous appetite.

That was okay though. Lisa assured him she’d be fine, and they chatted up more. He even danced, sort of, after working on his second drink. He decided it didn’t entirely matter if the others came back. Lisa made him feel good on her own, and she had this cute way of leaning against him.

Too bad nature called, and Waylon peeled away, spirits high.

“You’ll, I mean...I’ll be right back. Gonna use the bathroom. If you see Miles, tell him, um,” he wasn’t drunk, but his tongue wasn’t all that cooperative. “I forget. I’ll be back.”

He was smiling like an idiot at her, and kept smiling like she was with him as he trundled through bodies and somehow ended up on the second floor.

Where was the damn bathroom?

He found it, relieved himself, washed up, and looked at himself in the mirror. His sandy hair was kind of impossible to work with, but had that smooth touch. He ruffled it, and realized he’d never pull a Miles off.

Since when did he care about his looks?

Waylon splashed some water on himself before leaving.

Blaire was waiting.

“Jesus!” Waylon clutched his chest. “What’s with you and popping up after I use the bathroom?”

“This time I was waiting for you,” Blaire said around a shrug.

Waylon grumbled.

“I was hoping to catch a moment with you. Lisa certainly has her claws in you.”

“She’s nice.”

“She’s a pretty face, if that’s what you mean.”

Alcohol made it so much easier to give into the urge to say back, “She doesn’t creep me out like you.”

Blaire laughed at that, then shook his head. A strong arm came around Waylon, steered him too easily away from the thrum of the party and into a room.

“You said you were going to show me your skills, weren’t you?”

Waylon rubbed his eyes, then tensed up when he realized they were in a room he didn’t recognize.

“I said….I might,” he said, thinking that’s what he had said.

Blaire rolled his eyes and nudged, then pushed him, down into a seat in front of a desktop.

“I just need a favor, okay? I hear you’re a genius deep down. You’re what, thirteen?”

Waylon snorted, and most certainly did not pout. “I’m almost sixteen.”

“Right, look at this. No, come on, don’t be difficult. I’m sure even with some drinks you got it in you.”

“I’m thirsty.”

“I’ll get you anything to drink. After you do this favor for me, okay? I’ll owe you.”

Waylon blinked up at that. “You’ll owe me.”

“Sure thing.”

“Why should I be helping you? It’s rude to make me do a favor at a party.”

“I’ll really owe you.”

Waylon frowned.

Blaire smiled. “I know you’ve gotten kind of soft for Gluskin, huh? You do a little favor with me, and consider my concerns with him nullified.”

At that, Waylon sobered up more. He contemplated as much as his slurred mind allowed him to. Then, hesitantly, he said, “You...won’t make fun of him anymore. Or push him around like you were.”

“Just that.”

Waylon looked at the screen, the keyboard calling out to him.

“What kind of favor?”

“Encryption type. It’s nothing major, just want to patch up holes and to be honest, with all the news about tech guys coming in and putting spyware shit in our stuff, I thought it was fate you came along.”

Waylon studied the screen as Blaire woke it up.

“You’ll really leave Eddie alone?”

“I’m a man of my word.”

Waylon exhaled, looked at Blaire, then back at the computer.

“Fine.”


	4. Gasoline

It really had been nothing major. Waylon had done his patchwork within fifteen minutes, and couldn’t believe it was all he needed to do. Child’s play really. At least Blaire seemed impressed, smiling something closer to a genuine smile, shaking his hand, and nudging him back to the party.

Waylon easily dismissed the sick feeling in the pit of his gut as a product of drinking.

When he finally made it back down to Lisa, he smiled apologetically.

“Hey, sorry. Got distracted. Not that you’re less worthy of my attention, just...um, can we find Miles? I’m kind of not feeling all that great. I think I need to crash.”

“You gonna hurl? Because if you do, he’ll seriously make you walk home.” Lisa laughed when Waylon stumbled.

“You’re really done, aren’t you? Come here, clumsy, before you hurt yourself.” Lisa draped one of Waylon’s skinny arms over her shoulder and pulled him close. She was much more in shape than he, but then again, looking at Waylon, that didn’t take all that much.

“Did you have fun tonight? Blaire didn’t bother you too much, did he? I’ll kick his ass.”

“Are we finally leaving? Good. I was starting to grow a button down blouse and an intense interest in debutant life.” Sarah rolled her eyes and delivered those words with the most sarcasm expressed in any voice ever.

Waylon didn’t care if he looked silly being carted off by Lisa. In fact, he felt better because of her attention. She made him antsy in a good kind of way. She was strong where he was meek, and she seemed fine with that. She was taller than him by an inch, and could probably carry him out like a princess if she wanted to.

“I won’t hurl,” he said, looking over Sarah. “Sorry you had a boring time. I’m glad you came though.”

Blaire came down the steps again, but didn’t stop by them at all. Waylon felt a little sicker.

“It’s nice you offer to kick his ass for me,” he told Lisa. “But I have a feeling he has it out for me in some way. I think going home is a good, um, idea.”

He heard Blaire talking in the background. Though he couldn’t hear what he said, Waylon’s stomach seized up. He shoved Lisa away, scrambled up the stairs, and emptied his stomach into the closest toilet he crashed onto.

“Ugh, gross. Miles, we got a hurler!” Sarah called to the general vicinity of downstairs, where Miles didn’t take long to respond.

“Someone get a bag, and we’ll take him. Just this once, cause he’s still new. One speck of vomit on my baby and you owe me your life Park!”

Lisa leaned over Waylon’s shoulder, patting his face with some toilet paper.

“Don’t listen to that asshole, he’s kidding. You okay Waylon? Or you got more you need to...spill?”

Waylon moaned, suddenly struck with the realization he felt miserable on too many levels. He couldn’t bother with responding to Miles. Someone held him gently though, and he felt a little less inclined to vomit when he saw it was Lisa.

“My parents are going to kill me,” he said.

Despite his best attempts, he hugged the toilet a little longer before he was being hauled out by arms of owners he didn’t care about at that moment. He thought he heard some cheers as he was all but paraded out, but maybe that was in his head.

“Miles,” he said, “could I...ugh, stay the night? If my parents see me sick, they’ll know I’ve,” he groaned as he was seated, “I’ve been drinking.”

“Aw dude,” Miles scrunched his nose in one of those attractive frowns he was the master of. To take care of someone experiencing what looked to be his first hangover was not how he’d planned to spend the night.

“I don’t....really...Lisa? You’ve been hanging out all night with him?”

“Wow Miles, could you be more of an ass? You know my mom would promise me an ass-whooping if I brought home a boy without three months advance notice and a meeting with his parents. How about you Sar?”

Sarah gave a long sigh, and mustered Waylon.

“I can put the pup up for the night, sure. My mom won’t give a fuck, if she’s even home. It’s full moon tonight, so probably not. Alright, then at least let me get shotgun for the ride.”

Waylon exposed his capability for anger when he kicked the back of Miles’ seat hard.

“Asshole,” he said, then curled up into his corner to die.

He didn’t die, though he felt like he was losing his head when he was eased out of the car, gathered into a home, and deposited on a mattress that might have been soft or hard. He didn’t know. What he did know was he had to call his parents, and with all the effort left in him, he did.

Thank goodness Sarah was there to assure them. She might have been founded in sarcasm and bitterness, but she talked a sweet talk to parents in a way that got Waylon off the hook. So what if they lied and said he was sleeping over with Miles?

“Thanks,” Waylon muttered into a pillow. Already he’d been given a water bottle and container for future vomits. “I...really owe you. And I owe Miles...a virus on his laptop or...something.” He opened one eye. “Did they leave already?”

“Yeah. Miles is a sensitive sort of guy, believe it or not. You puke in front of him, and I guarantee you he’s hugging the toilet when he gets home,” Sarah wedged the door to her room shut and kicked off her jeans. Waylon was a sweet guy, and very much post-drunk sluggish. She wasn’t particularly concerned about walking around in her panties in front of him.

With leisure, she rolled herself something that smelled sweet, and fairly illegal. So much for the sweet words she’d just spewed to Waylon’s concerned parents...

“Shit, was it your first time? You shoulda told me Way, I would have looked out for you not mixing your drinks.”

Another time, when Waylon wasn’t working his way into a hangover, he’d protest and feel flustered at a girl wandering around her place in her panties. That, and the faint smell curling his way. With the window open, he hardly recognized it though.

“Mm.” Waylon sighed and watched her, wishing he could smile. “That’s nice of you to say. I’d tried beer before but yeah, that was my first time. I didn’t think I drank much.” He groaned to get up, sipped some water. “Might be the asian genes in me giving me low…”

He trailed off, eyes resting in the general direction of pictures of…

“Are those all of Eddie?”

“Hm?” Sarah perked up at the name, and let herself fall into a comfortable half-laying position on the bed, from which she could look up at the wall plastered in odd angled shots of Eddie Gluskin.

“He’s really photogenic, but he hates posing. Hm...so cute.” Sarah actually smiled as she puffed out some smoke rings.

“This one’s from two weeks ago. He looks pretty rugged with that black eye, doesn’t he?”

Suddenly Waylon sat up a little straighter, dragging himself over to pick on the details. There was truth to Sarah’s statement. Even with his hand covering parts of the camera, Eddie looked good no matter what. Waylon’s stomach tickled.

“You weren’t kidding about liking him,” he said, lying down again, looking up at the photos. “Hey...what can you tell me about him?”

“Oh man, didn’t Lisa warn you about asking me that?” Sarah chuckled, offering her roll-up to Waylon as nonchalantly as a normal smoke.

“Where do I start? Okay first up, I don’t stalk him. I just like to take pictures of him, and yeah, he’s mostly off-guard when I do it...but he’s cute. Everyone always thinks he’s this big, dumb weirdo, but I definitely know there’s more to Eddie Gluskin. I know he’s poor as a church mouse, and this is his third year in this grade..he’s not dumb, Way. He really isn’t. But it’s like...he’s not getting help. You remember his house, right? He lives there with his parents and a bunch of their relatives, I think his uncle and grandmother and cousins..Oh and his little sister.” Sarah took a breath and touched one of the pictures, the one where Eddie sported a black eye. She stayed silent, her lips pressed to a fine line as she traced the dark smudge on the photo.

“I’ve tried talking to him, so many times. I tried to offer to tutor him, but he just told me he would be wasting my time...breaks my heart to know how rough he’s got it. He doesn’t deserve it Way. He’s really sweet. He was in Lisa’s sewing club for a while, you know? She ran it as a sort of joke, more to get her clothes all short without her mom finding out, and then Eddie showed up. He...he’s really talented. He made this dress...Hold on,” Sarah plunged her hands into the drawers of her bedside table and found what she was looking for, thrusting a picture of Lisa in a stunning summer dress at Waylon.

“It’s gorgeous, right? He made it out of a curtain. A curtain! Anyway...he never wants to talk to me. I think he thinks I’m weird, cause I’m always trying to take pictures of him and to ask him out. He’s either not into girls, or super, super shy.”

Waylon felt dizzy with information. Some of it left him feeling validated, that the thing that had made him want to rectify matters with Eddie was not a product he fabricated out of his own doing. Sarah saw it too.

Automatically, Waylon took the joint and took a drag. He coughed as he accepted the picture in lieu of another inhale, marveling at the details. He didn’t know anything about fashion, but he knew a curtain couldn’t be made into a dress as well as it looked on Lisa, right?

“Holy shit,” he said. “He’s got skills.”

He smiled, even if he felt a little sick.

“I started giving him my extra lunch, you know. I think he’s been eating it. And...he calls me Waylon now,” he said, looking at Sarah.

He didn’t tell her about the singing. It felt private, a detail only he wanted to know.

“Does he? Shit, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say my name. It’s always Whitman this, Whitman stop taking pictures,” she laughed, but the hint of disappointment in her voice couldn’t be missed. Sarah saw something great in Eddie, and she wished she could prove it to the world.

“That’s good of you, Waylon. I don’t think anyone’s looked out for Eddie, ever. You can just tell, you know? He’s really lonely...I’m gonna give him an ipod next week. It’s his birthday, though he doesn’t know that I know.” She took her joint back and sucked in a deep breath.

“I just want him to open up to like, one person, you know? I don’t care if it’s not me, I get it, I might be too intense for him. But you? That would be great.”

She sat up and turned to Waylon, stared at him long enough to make him uncomfortable.

“You gotta promise you you’ll keep trying, alright Way? Eddie needs a friend. And you’re a sweet guy. I trust you with him.”

Waylon didn’t know Sarah had the power to make you feel like an insect under her thumb. She had real threat in him, but the more she stared, the more Waylon muddled his way through his thinking to conclude it was something else. She was putting faith in him.

Maybe it was a way to pay her back for being so decent to him.

Whether it was or not, Waylon slowly nodded. He knew since day one he wasn’t going to stop trying, and he still didn’t know why. It wasn’t important, maybe.

“I’m not...that sweet, am I?” he hugged the pillow under him tightly. “Maybe. Listen, don’t tell anyone, especially Miles but...Blaire asked me for a favor. I did it. He said he won’t bother Eddie anymore if I did it…”

“He did?” Sarah frowned at this new information, she was still lucid enough to take that thought a step further. Favours for Blaire couldn’t mean anything good.

“What kind of favour?”

Waylon shrugged as he yawned. His vision blurred, eyes shutting slowly yet he wanted to look at the photo he’d put next to him a little longer. Eddie had a few hidden talents, wasted in the life he was being raised in. Hardly raised, at that.

“Some techy stuff,” Waylon said, stomach settling a bit. That smoke might have done the trick. “Figured it was not a big deal if it meant not bothering Eddie. I’m sure he,” another yawn, “won’t bug either of us anymore.”

Sarah somehow doubted the truth of that, knowing Jeremy the way she did. Miles was right in thinking the guy was up to something, and his interest in Waylon was only further proof to that theory.

But she also saw that Waylon was passing out, with the photo of Lisa in the dress right next to him. Too cute. She wouldn’t bother him with this shit tonight, but she’d definitely talk to Miles about what happened.

“Yeah, it’d be good if he didn’t fuck with Eddie anymore. You did good Waylon. Get some sleep, cutie.”

Waylon dozed off before she’d finished speaking.

**-x-**

Waylon could officially proclaim he survived his first hangover, all while eluding his parents’ suspicions. Thank goodness for advanced placement classes and their demanding homework assignments. Truth be told he did little of it the following day, but come Sunday he had it all done, and was feeling rather damn great for school next week.

He was sure his ego was getting stroked by Lisa. Her texting kept him smiling. Did she really like him? Did he like her like that? Shit, he really didn’t know and maybe shouldn’t. Later, maybe.

For now, he had a greater priority in finding Eddie.

As he sat beside Miles in science, he flashed a smile back, but Eddie wasn’t looking his way like usual. After class, then.

“Hey,” he told Miles, shoving him gently. “Thanks for dumping me on Sarah on Friday. But she saved you by saying you’re weak when it comes to vomit.”

“Rude. Listen, man, Sarah talked to me about something too. And I’m gonna need some privacy with you later. Wow that sounded suggestive. It’s to talk, alright? But if you’re down for a little more we can discuss it too. I’m not too high and mighty to help a dude out.” Miles seemed a little off, a little agitated and distracted. He didn’t even comment on Waylon’s constant glances.

The way Miles flicked his eyes around and piqued at the smallest noise reminded Waylon of a meerkat. Though he figured Miles was less cute and more handsome in a rugged kind of way. He’d be lying if he didn’t have some attraction to Miles.

Stomping down that sudden realization, Waylon focused hard on what Miles had said. His heart was starting to beat fast.

“Wait, what do you mean talked to you?” he said, whispering. “As in, talked to you about something I told her not to tell anyone, especially you about?”

“What? No, man, she talked to me about the little deal you made with Blaire.” Miles looked serious now, and he’d lowered his voice, even though no one was paying any attention to them.

“Look, I got a feeling Blaire is into some bad business. Cracking codes doesn’t exactly imply his innocence. I’m gonna find out exactly what he’s up to, but you need to remember what the hell you did for him exactly.”

“Oh, Jesus, Miles,” Waylon buried his head in his hands and tugged on his too soft hair for good measure. When he lifted his head slightly, it was to narrow an eye at his partner. “You realize that’s the thing I was talking about? I told her not to tell you!”

He could understand what the others meant about Miles on a scent, not unlike a bloodhound.

Waylon groaned and shook his head. “No, no, Miles, I don’t want any part in your...conspiracy theory. It was barely an encryption. It’s the kind of small stuff they’d teach you in college. It’s not a big deal, and it’s done with, so let it go? Why would you mess with big fish like Blaire? He’s exactly the kind of...douche,” he said that softer, “who ends up a nobody when we have a reunion.”

Or the kind of monster that wore Armani and clawed his way to the top on the backs of those he used.

“I don’t think so, Park. See, guys like Blaire, they start early, get in deep, and later, they’re untouchable. They’re kind of assholes that make the world such a shitty place.” Miles looked bitter, and there was more history to this part of him than Waylon could ever know.

“That’s why you have to take him down early and fast. Keep one more selfish ass from power. And that’s why...you gotta do him another favour, whenever he asks for it. He will. Trust me. And you’re gonna keep me on top of it, alright?”

The more Miles talked, the more Waylon believed him, and he hated it. So what, though? There would always be people like Blaire. If he went down, another spawned in his place. That’s the way the world worked, spun by the hands of those proven cruel enough to reach the top.

His voice almost quivered when he spoke again.

“No, Miles. I don’t...are you kidding me? I’m not getting involved with Blaire. He’s not going to ask me for anymore, okay? And...if he did, for whatever reason, I’d turn him down. This isn’t some movie. I’m just a computer geek. I’d like to make it out of high school alive to have some semblance of a future.”

“Damn it Park!” Miles slapped his hand on the table, loud enough to make those few remaining jump and look over at him with a glare. Miles didn’t even acknowledge anyone else’s existence right now.

“Look, this is bigger than you. I promise you’re not gonna get hurt. All you have to do is wait, and when Blaire asks you for something, you play reluctant, and agree. I don’t care what you ask in return from him, you just have to memorize what exactly he’s having you do, alright? My dad’s a cop. I know about this shit.”

The sound of Miles’ hand crashing on the table jolted Waylon to stand up. Instinct kicked in, and for an instant he was afraid of Miles, memories of loud noises preceding pain gearing him up to hop out of harm’s way.

He realized Miles wouldn’t hurt him, Waylon stayed tense. He didn’t like the look in Miles’ eyes. The severity, the intensity told Waylon he was out of his playing level.

Swallowing hard, he grabbed his bag and said, “I...think you got this assignment without me…”

As he turned his back and made his way around toward the right corner, he felt like a coward. He hated confrontation, even if his irritation was bubbling under his skin, even if he had wanted to comply with Miles and just go with it.

More than anything, he needed a breather, and so he stood by Eddie, looking as haggard as he was suddenly feeling, good mood soured.

“Need a lab partner?” he asked softly.

Miles didn’t chase him down, didn’t even turn to look at him any more. He’d stew in this rejection all the way until he had another chance to confront Waylon, and hopefully, convince him.

Eddie had been aware of the discourse at the table in front, but far be it from him to comment on it. It wasn’t any of his business, and he didn’t want to make it his business. However, he did have half of the problem standing at his desk, looking kind of beat and in need of company.

Overcoming his discomfort with social interactions, Eddie looked at Waylon.

“Won’t Miles be angry that you’re leaving him alone?”

It was idiotic, really, coming from someone who never got the help he so direly needed to be concerned with anyone else, but the way Eddie glanced to the front and at Miles’ back, it was clear the worry was real.

It wasn’t quite the open invitation someone else might have granted Waylon after his domestic with Miles. Given the person he was talking to, Waylon accepted it as it being not a rejection and saddled up on the stool beside Eddie. He wished he could say he felt relief.

“Fuck Miles,” he said, his nerve cut short so that he said it loud enough for his ex-partner to hear.

He provided a sheepish tilt of his mouth to Eddie. “Sorry about all that. Anyway, makes it easier for me to give you this.”

Another lunch bag nestled in front of Eddie, plumper than the others he received periodically.

“Well, come on,” Waylon said, not wanting the silence to ruin what amiable connection he had with Eddie. “Let’s get science-ing.”


	5. Kaltes Herz

Partnering with Eddie might have been the best choice of the day. True to his suspicions and Sarah’s intel, Eddie was by no means dumb. Waylon didn’t know what had stunted his intellectual growth, but Eddie had potential and a foundation for fast learning.

With Waylon’s coaxing, and never in a pitying way, he guided Eddie to draw conclusions on his own and execute parts of the lab without his help. Eddie didn’t quite smile at his achievements, but the cresting of understanding in his eyes put a smile on Waylon’s face.

Maybe Eddie could indeed use a tutor. It was an idea in its premature stages, so Waylon had no motive to bring it up now.

He did tell Eddie though to consider having him as a partner again if he wanted to, but no pressure.

He left before Eddie and Miles did, only bidding farewell to the former. Way too aware of Miles’ intent to hound him about his theory, Waylon bullied his way through the hall and found sanctuary where he could until next period.

It would be better if he didn’t have to talk to Miles at all today, give the boy a day to reconsider his lunacy and tap back into the real world where teenage drama did not extend into the criminal underworld.

Of course that plan would evaporate before it had begun. Not only did the school prefer Miles, but so did fate and her fickle sense of her humor.

In the middle of his computer class, Blaire popped in.

Waylon hadn’t noticed him until his teacher called his name out. The color almost fell from his face. Least he was in front of a computer; it would give him some coloring if that happened.

“You got three minutes,” his teacher told him.

Blaire had come in and demonstrated a new facet of his power. And there stood Waylon, outside the class, wondering if his good spirits would forever be jerked around by this kid’s interference. Or Miles’ conspiracies. 

“Sorry to pull you out,” Blaire said, “but I figured it would be difficult to catch you later.”

Waylon fought down a sigh. “Sure. What’s up?”

“It seems there are some more...issues I need your help on.”

Waylon quirked a brow. In retrospect, alcohol had made him much more docile to assist Blaire, as well as having pent up his anger.

“Computer help, you mean.”

“Yes. But,” Blaire held up a hand, “before you turn me down, I figure we could work it out as a kind of deal.”

“You already said you’d stop bothering Eddie.”

“I could pay you.”

“I don’t...want your money.” Waylon internally flinched when he added, “But thanks.”

Blaire’s eyes hardened a little. “Right. Well, you see, I don’t intent to hassle Eddie, but he has a reputation.”

Waylon bit on his tongue, and crossed his arms to hide the fist his hand was making. It was doing that lately.

“You’re blackmailing me,” he blurted out.

Blaire’s posture relaxed. Waylon felt the need to step back. He stayed put, swallowed hard.

“It’s an investment for me,” Blaire said, sounding like he didn’t quite care how Waylon called it.

“What is it you want me to be doing?”

“Relax, Park. I’m not doing anything crazy like running a slave ring or laundering money. I got interests I want protected. Well, my grandfather does to be exact.”

Waylon struggled with that detail. “Your grandpa wants me to do it?”

“He was very happy with what you did.”

Waylon’s fist relaxed into the crook of his arm. “I...didn’t know it was for him.”

“Well, you can imagine why he wouldn’t want that being known. Asking a student of his school to help with delicate matters like that? I told him I could find someone trustworthy to do the work. He’s paranoid. Like Upshur.”

That sounded more plausible, but Waylon didn’t leap for the opportunity.

“...You need to leave Eddie alone even if something happens. To...a reasonable degree, I guess. And I want to talk to your grandpa.”

“Ah, make sure I’m not lying?”

Waylon lowered his eyes.

“That’s fine,” Blaire chuckled. “If it will assuage your fears.”

“I’m not scared.”

Blaire scraped his gaze over him, from head to toe. It made Waylon fidget. “You’re something else, Park. We really should hang out more.”

“I’m...okay, thanks.”

“Really. Think it over.” Blaire winked and slithered away before Waylon could even pretend he had considered Blaire had thrown him a flirt. Absolutely not.

Waylon ran a hand through his hair and groaned.

This was some High School Drama crap he had not signed up for.

Crap.

Again.


	6. Wake Up

Thanks to Blaire, a phrase probably passed around school like a virus, Waylon couldn’t even immerse himself in his programming. Too many thoughts buzzed around in his head, none of them particularly comforting.

Had he just become Blaire’s bitch?

No, he told himself, because he didn’t have the emotional arsenal to handle that truth.

With his mind tumbling out of his control, Waylon couldn’t handle Miles at lunch, and instantly made for the spot Eddie sought peace in as his own. Though he had arrived earlier than before, Eddie was already there, with the bag Waylon had given him with his extra food.

“Hey,” he said, standing where he was, not daring to intrude.

“Um, I was wondering,” he paused, then stopped overthinking and let it spew out, “you want to hang out after school sometime? Like...catch a movie or something. Eat donuts, anything, just...you know, not be bothered by whatever crap’s going on in our personal lives?”

Eddie cautiously let the bag Waylon gave him earlier slide back into his backpack. He found it extraordinarily embarrassing to eat it in front of Waylon. He wasn’t even sure why he still allowed Waylon to give him food like a homeless stray, but actually having a full stomach every lunch had become a luxury Eddie grew used to.

He didn’t want to take more from home than he absolutely had to, and this way, with him not needing to take any of the food available for his large family, the tensions in the Gluskin household had changed in his favour. Eddie liked how his mother smiled at him as she took the leftovers from breakfast, the stuff that used to be his lunch, with her to work, where she was no doubt grateful to have lunch for herself. Eddie’s mother worked in a factory, and it was a hard living which she couldn’t do forever. Already, her health problems were stifling and her medical bills unmanageable. Insurance didn’t come from her employer, or rather, not enough to cover everything the poor woman endured.

The Gluskins were survivors though, and they could scrape by on very little. They proved that, time and time again.

They were also fairly unused to frivolous hobbies and free time, which was why Eddie stared oddly at Waylon now.

“Uhm...I don’t...I mean, I have work,” he muttered. Sure, he would have liked to do any of those things Waylon mentioned, but they just weren’t possible for him. How was he to tell Waylon that without sounding like a street rat?

“I mean, I have to help out at home, I don’t really...have time.”

“Oh.”

Standing never made Waylon feel so awkward. Shifting his body weight from foot to foot, he imagined what kind of work Eddie had to do. Did he have a job to help pay for the crummy pieces of wood over his head?

Waylon had it too good by comparison.

“Well,” he gestured to the spot by Eddie, “could I...join you for lunch?”

“It’s...yeah, sure,” Eddie didn’t look comfortable still, but it was obvious Waylon would be seeking him out for something, it did not matter if it was during or after school.

He watched his new acquaintance, wearily.

Waylon sat beside his lunch mate, relief visible as he did so. Despite the drive to seek Eddie out for whatever purpose, misguided or not, Waylon maintained a slight distance.

“You don’t have to look so miserable,” he said. “I like you, okay? I want to spend some time with you. I think you’re cool. That so hard to believe? Wait. Don’t answer that. I’m sure you feel that way.”

He sighed at his lunch bag. Then, he set it close to Eddie’s leg.

“Here. I lost my appetite today.”

“Do I look that hungry?” Eddie didn’t reach for the bag immediately, but he did eye it. He shouldn’t so readily accept the charity of others, because it usually came at a price, usually at his expense.

“It’s kind of weird you’ve been giving me lunch...it’s...not a joke of some sort, is it?”

Waylon sagged against the wall, but had enough in him to shake his head and chuckle.

“No, Eddie. I like you, like I said. I have too much food. Even if you started having big lunches, I’d offer it to you first before anyone else.”

He looked at the other student, resisting the urge to think on how many people’s charities had proven to be a joke to Eddie. A bad one, at that.

“You’re shy, and you look intimidating, but I think you’re, well, cool. Maybe I saw some of me in you. I’ve been bullied more times than is probably tolerable for someone my age,” he shrugged a shoulder, “and anyway, I think you’re smart. I’m attracted to that.”

At the word usage that had fallen out, he cleared his throat and waved it off.

“I mean, in general. Just because you’re struggling with grades doesn’t mean you’re dumb. You’re actually really smart, Eddie, and talented.”

“You really like to talk, don’t you?” Eddie seemed to allow the slip-up, and took every compliment Waylon made him into his heart. Maybe he really meant it. Maybe he could seem smart and cool to at least one person in the world. Eddie offered Waylon a small smile for his troubles.

“Thank you...for saying all that. And for lunch. It’s...really nice of you. I don’t really know what to do for you in return.”

“Well for one, you can scram, Gluskin. Need a moment with my boy Park alone.”

Blaire had never approached more quietly than today. And never had he come over with all of his lunch cronies in tow. The Twins glowered from his left and right side, flanking the young bigshot like sentinels.

Eddie grabbed all of his things and stood, but he looked back at Waylon uncertainly.

“What’s the matter Gluskin? You gone deaf too now? I said sc-”

“You won’t hurt him!” Eddie snapped, and stood more confidently, definitely in front of Waylon, ready to defend him.

“Jesus, I’m not gonna, you hillbilly psycho. Why would I? Park’s my buddy, right Park?”

Waylon stood up when Eddie did, surprised by the sudden burst of protection Eddie cast his way. Were Blaire not invading their moment, he would bask in the feeling of being touched. Instead, he knew not to take his attention completely off Blaire.

Still, he reached out and rested his hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Don’t call him a psycho or hillbilly,” Waylon said, firmer than he would ever dream of. Maybe Eddie’s confidence bled into him. To Eddie, he said, gently, “It’s okay. Meet me by the bleachers in a few?”

Eddie took a hesitant step, almost assured by Waylon’s words, but suspicious of Blaire nonetheless. It didn’t feel right, to have Waylon so exposed. So he hesitated still. Park was such a small guy, his asian genes doing him no favours in height or width. It would be easy for anyone to physically dominate him...

“Didn’t you hear him, Gluskin? Scram. He’ll continue your little date in a few. Go on now. Or do you want to spend another year in this grade? I can make that happen for you.”

Eddie paled at Blaire’s threat, but he looked to Waylon anyway.

“You’re okay alone?”

Waylon’s face hardened at the threat. It didn’t seem prudent to bring it up with Eddie in hearing distance. So he sucked in all the bravery he could from Eddie, which didn’t amount to much for what obstacle he faced. It was something.

“Don’t worry,” he said, smiling at Eddie. “I’ll be there soon.”

He hoped his voice conveyed his thanks.

Eddie left him frowning, not sure if it had been wise to abandon Waylon to the claws of Blaire. Then again, the guy had assured him that he’d be alright, heck, he’d even wanted Eddie to go. He could probably handle himself. Probably. Hopefully.

Blaire waited until Eddie was gone from sight before he turned to Waylon and sighed.

“He’s a bit slow, I don’t know what you see in him, really. Anyway. Wanted to catch up with you. How’ve you been? Great. I need another little favour from you.”

Waylon felt it coming like a fist to the gut. He kept himself upright though he wanted to cringe or hide in a locker if it meant avoiding Blaire the rest of the school years.What was it with this kid hounding him? Had they not just talked this morning?

It was too unsettling a thought to think Blaire wanted more than just his computer skills.

“I thought you said I was going to talk to your grandpa before I did anymore...favors.” He couldn’t help but ask. “It’s still a computer favor...right?”

“It’s a small one, relax. I just need you make sure that my laptop is safe from snooping little assholes, like, say, Upshur.” Blaire smiled and the atmosphere became chilly.

“Seems like he really took that opportunity at my party. What a rude house guest, don’t you agree?”

Waylon glanced at the lackeys barricading him and Blaire into a world of their own. As far as Waylon felt, no one in the school would look this way. They didn’t exist as of right now. 

“You know...I’m sure there are other people who can do that for you, Jeremy.”

“Oh Park,” Blaire shook his head, getting into Waylon’s personal space and laying a hand on his shoulder. The touch was light, but full of threat nonetheless.

“I don’t want anyone else to do it. You’re good at it. Why shouldn’t I want the best? We’re friends, Park. Friends do each other favours. Right? I was gonna look into getting your polish rat a pass this year. That way, he might graduate before he’s thirty.”

Dirty, conniving, and despicable hardly scratched the surface of the creature Blaire was proving to be. It had to be a bad joke that this was the student he first ran into, shaped the formation of his new school experience.

Waylon had the urge to knock the hand away, but, as typical, he only endured.

Talk of Eddie was a weak point, and Blaire knew it perfectly well.

“Fine,” Waylon grunted. It seemed more trouble to argue or guide Blaire down the just and honest path. “When do you want me to do this...favor?”

“Good guy Park,” Blaire patted his shoulder like a pet, and in a sense, Waylon was nothing more, “The sooner the better. Meet me at lunch tomorrow. And Park?”

The grip intensified for only a moment as Blaire’s eyes hardened, “Don’t even think about telling Upshur or his little friends.”

Waylon bit down on his tongue from spitting at his face or snapping back. He’d never felt the instinct to do so as much as he did with Blaire. This was a bully of a different breed, and Waylon knew nothing of how to neuter him and get him out of his life.

Feeling like a coward, he nodded and lowered his eyes.

“Okay. Can I just go now?”

“I don’t know, can you?” Jeremy’s smile remained, like a crocodile’s, frozen and ready to tear Waylon apart at any moment. But he just let go of his shoulder, stepping back and turning without another pause. Their business was finished.

“Just kidding Park. Go on, pet your rat for me. He’s getting attached to you, must be adapting to your scent on his food.”

Waylon marched past him quickly, anger bubbling close to the surface. Blaire’s goons laughed, and Waylon walked faster until he was jogging, getting the hell away from them. In his desperation for fresh air, he’d almost forgotten about where he was to meet Eddie.

He went immediately once he took a few handful of breaths.

Composing himself as much as possible, Waylon waved when he spotted him by the bleachers. He hurried over.

“Hey. Sorry. About...that. He’s an asshole to you for no reason. You okay?”

Eddie had been waiting, at the bleachers as Waylon had asked. He still seemed nervous though, checking to see if Blaire had followed Waylon from the corner he’d been confronted in. It was odd how Waylon’s acquaintance only seemed to come with trouble in form of Jeremy.

“Are you okay? Did he do something?” A quick glance told Eddie that Waylon didn’t sport any bruises or injuries.

“That guy is trouble. Lots of trouble.”

Waylon nodded, sighing heavily.

“You’re right. I wish I never had ran into him my first day,” he said, then smiled. “I’m okay. It was nothing. I don’t want to waste what’s left of lunch today worrying about him.”

He looked around, then crept his way through under the bleachers.

“Come on. No one will see us here.”

Eddie looked sceptical at having to crawl his way under the bleachers, not so easy a task for his larger frame. But he managed all the same. He liked the way the sun filtered through in stripes. It felt cozy, more or less.

He sat down, crossed his legs with his backpack between them. Pulling out the bag Waylon had given to him, he tentatively unwrapped whatever was on today’s menu. It was better than what he’d usually have, that was for sure.

“Are you my friend, Waylon?” he asked, suddenly.

Waylon had watched Eddie navigate his way through the spaces between metal. It had him smile that he’d gone through the effort to accompany Waylon. The guy was...sweet. That was probably the best word for it. Not that Waylon thought he should say it aloud.

At the term, he perked up.

“Yeah,” he said, smile back. “If you’d let me. I’d like to be your friend, Eddie.” He paused, then added, “Thanks. For back there. Sticking up for me like that.”

Eddie nodded, as if it was perfectly expected of him to show some sort of protectiveness towards his new friend. A real friend. Eddie didn’t have any of those. Of course, he hadn’t made any effort before either.

“I don’t like it when people pick on other people...especially smaller ones. Makes me mad. I wish I could just punch Jeremy Blaire, but I’d be expelled if I did that again.”

Waylon laughed, pleased by the image of Blaire on his back and in some modicum of pain, though it would never measure up to the amount he must have inflicted on others.

“You and I have that in common, only you got the build to handle it better I think.” He scooted closer to his new friend, delight washing away the ill feelings Blaire had instilled in him. 

“Hey, got an idea here. Part of the reason he’s an ass is because he knows you aren’t doing well with grades. What if I helped you with that? I could tutor you. I’m sure we can work it out somehow with your schedule. Plus, it’d mean less opportunities for Sarah to be taking your picture too.”

Waylon had this way of swamping Eddie with words, and it took some getting used to, at least for Eddie. He chewed a couple of bites and considered what his new friend offered to him. Waylon was genuine, he wanted to help. But knowing that he knew about Blaire’s pressure, about how he used Eddie’s miserable average to hold power over him? That didn’t sit right.

Not to mention Sarah’s obsession with taking his picture.

“You know a lot about me,” Eddie conceded, though it wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg, “...I can’t do it after school. I..I have a job, on the side, to help my mom...I could come...earlier though, in the morning?”

Waylon had braced himself for disappointment. When it didn’t come, he hoped he didn’t look as giddy as he felt. In that way, he and Eddie weren’t so different. He’d never had a real friend, not one he bonded the way he was with Eddie. It was a new feeling altogether.

“Sure, I can do that. Plus, probably less people around.” Waylon watched Eddie eat, then looked at the grass when he caught himself staring. “I can be here at seven in the morning tomorrow. We can work on any subject you want, okay? I’ll bring us breakfast.”

“You don’t have to...I feel really...scummy for taking advantage of your kindness already,” Eddie finished the food, but he did so with a guilty expression. It was depressing to think his mother could not afford to feed all of her family, but at least Eddie took the lesser position to his little sister. He couldn’t bear to hear her cry about an empty stomach. Waylon had no idea what difference he already made to Eddie’s life.

“You hang out with Sarah and her friends, right? Do you...has she told you why she takes my picture? I never...understood.”

Waylon brushed off Eddie’s guilt with a bigger smile. “Please. I hardly get to do the...right thing, and this feels right, so let me be selfish, okay?”

He plucked at the grass, eyes on the ground for the most part. The topic of Sarah ruffled his feathers. He still liked her, though she had blabbed to Miles and, speaking of which, the nut wouldn’t stop texting him now during the lunch break (a motivator to stay hidden under the bleachers).

“She likes you, Eddie. Got a huge crush on you. Kind of obsessively, maybe, but, she sees how great you can be, like me. Though I admit she goes about it in an intenser way.”

Eddie stopped chewing, and looked distinctly uncomfortable with the subject. Girls and the like were not a topic he could bring up with anyone he talked to, and subsequently, they were kind of alien to him. He’d seen couples from afar, it was highschool after all, and he’d wondered how nice it must be, to have someone who cared for you alone, someone you had a private thing with, shared lunches, hid under the bleachers...

The situation seemed eerily familiar but Eddie threw that thought out the second it arrived. This was nothing like that.

“I don’t...know if I like her. I mean, she doesn’t really...we don’t talk. I don’t know what to say to her.”

A pang had Waylon pull harder at the grass.

“She is kind of intense, like I said. I think you’d need someone...less so. Doesn’t mean she’s not nice in her own way,” Waylon said, unsure why he felt a little uneasy steering Eddie away from Sarah.

His intentions had truth in them though; Sarah was intense, and too much for Eddie.

He looked up.

“You don’t really know what to say to anyone, huh? It’s okay. You don’t...have to tell me about that, but...I’m really glad we’re friends, Eddie. Really glad. I think you’re overdue for one.”

A crooked smile was Waylon’s answer for that. Eddie was definitely in need of a friend, and perhaps a great deal more. He tried, but struggled, working with the poor conditions he lived in. Not to speak of his parents, his alcoholic father, his hard-working mother on the edge of a breakdown, and the whole rest of the dependent pack. There was no room for Eddie to be much of a person, but he took the small victories he could achieve, such as a C- when Trager felt generous, or the extra portion of lunch he worked for in the cafeteria to take home.

If Waylon knew any of that, he’d probably start heaping more on Eddie, and that would be charity the boy could not accept.

“I still don’t know why you want to be my friend, but I don’t think I want to question it. Happy with what you’re given, right? Maybe...you could tell Sarah for me. Nicely, of course. But I don’t...think I could handle having...that kind of friend. A girl.”

Now was not the type to point out that Waylon agreed, for very different reasons. Like Eddie, he took satisfaction in what they had, tentative friendship that Waylon hadn’t expected when he’d stupidly gone up to the brute looking kid in science class.

“I will,” Waylon said. “And as to why, maybe I’m just seeing how much you’re not a nobody.”

His smile was softer, shy even. The silence that trailed that statement felt intimate, and were it not for the bell ringing, Waylon wasn’t sure he’d been able to fight down the blush coming.

“Already over, huh?” He sighed and crawled to his feet, minding his head. “Guess we better get going. But, uh...tomorrow at seven, say...we can meet at the quad but, if you’re cool with it, you could just come to my place?”

“I don’t know where you live.” Eddie felt a little dumb for stating the obvious, but he felt flat out nervous, going to someone else’s house. He’d never done that before either. Of course, he knew what kind of place Blaire lived in, since the mansion overlooked the ghetto, but he doubted Waylon was quite so pompously well off.

Waylon laughed again. It felt good, and it didn’t go unnoticed that it was Eddie who had him laughing more genuinely than anyone else since he got here.

“I know that.” Waylon fished out some paper, scribbled his address, and slipped it into Eddie’s palm. “It should be on your way to school, just take a street down. See you then?”

“Yeah.”


	7. Doesn't Remind Me

Eddie was overly punctual, to say the least. He rang the doorbell gingerly, hoping he wouldn’t wake anyone up who needed their sleep. But Waylon would have said so, right? Eddie was sweating despite the cold crisp of the morning around him.

It was Waylon’s mother who opened the door and blinked a couple of times at the oddly well-dressed young man in front of her door. A bowtie? In this day and age? And a dapper waistcoat too. Must be a drama geek or something of the sort.

“Waylon? Honey? It’s for you!”

“Mom, I said I got it!”

Waylon scrambled down the stairs, too late to answer the door before his mother got it. Of course she would. He had mentioned tutoring a friend, and her light had all but sparkled. He’d not brought a friend over before, though he mentioned Miles to her.

Before he skirted around his mom to see Eddie, he absentmindedly fixed his hair.

“Hey,” he greeted, pausing as he took in Eddie’s outfit. He smirked. “Come on in.”

He locked the door after Eddie. “We’ll be upstairs, okay, Mom?”

She was smiling too much for his liking. Thus, Waylon dragged Eddie’s arm along as she started introducing herself. “Mom, we don’t have time. School and all in an hour.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but seemed to allow her son the benefit of the doubt.

“I’ll bring up some food soon then.”

“Thanks,” Waylon tossed back down the stairs, still hauling Eddie up. “Sorry. She was really eager to meet you.”

Being the only child, his room supported that. Spacious, not too grand, and populated with trinkets of Waylon’s hobby of pulling apart technology and learning their insides and outs. Of course he sported a nice laptop and a desktop on one side of the room, and he’d dragged in a folding table so Eddie had a place to lay out his books.

“You look nice,” he offered as he set two chairs at the table. “I was kind of thinking you might not show up.”

Nevermind he hardly slept last night with the anticipation.

Eddie seemed rather impressed with the Parks’ house, not to mention the fact Waylon actually had furniture and technology in his room. Which he didn’t have to share. The Parks’ house was nice and comfortable.

“Why? We said we’d study...I need it.” Eddie tugged at his shirt, feeling a little silly for having tried so hard to make a good first impression. 

Waylon shrugged and gestured for Eddie to take a seat. His eyes cast more than a handful of glimpses. Eddie really did look nice. Now wasn’t the time to ask, but Waylon suspected Eddie had made those himself. No way did he have the funds to buy them, and with Eddie’s girth it was more likely it had been customized.

“Well, study time then!”

It was a little awkward at first, juggling all the topics and needing to pinpoint what Eddie struggled with most, what he understood but lacked in execution, and so on. It ended up more of an assessment, on both ends. Waylon had never tutored anyone, and so he made multiple notes in a journal solely for this task on what he’d need to emphasize, things to improve on, and the like. Of course that meant Eddie needing to be honest with him if he didn’t make sense, in which he could find a new way to approach the matter.

This in between his mom coming up with a bounty breakfast. There, she praised Eddie’s appearance and went on the whole parental delight of her only child bonding with another student. It had taken a good two minutes to convince her they needed to get back to studying.

“Alright, alright,” she said. “I’ll make extra lunch, hm? I hope you like Korean barbeque, Eddie!”

Waylon moaned as she descended down the steps. 

“She likes to make my dad food from his homeland and surprise him at work with it.” He rubbed his eyes as he recalled something. “Crap. I forgot at lunch…”

Realizing he almost admitted his ‘date’ with Jeremy, he cleared his throat. “Well anyway, we did good for today. I think we made a lot of progress. We can work on science more today. Ah, if you don’t mind being partners again?”

Eddie had been shy at first, but he opened up, shared everything that was a burden to him. And there was plenty. He liked Mrs Park and her open way of handling things, especially since she brought with her a breakfast that would have been a sunday feast for Eddie’s house. And it was just for the two of them? The day was starting off great, and it could only get better now.

The prospect of lunch alone was enough to have Eddie smiled. Mrs Park was great, and so was Waylon.

“Sure...no one ever wants to be partnered with me. I don’t blame them, and neither does Professor Trager. But if you want to...I’ll try my best. Are you still in a...thing with Upshur?”

“Great,” Waylon said, packing up for the school day to come, overlooking the dread of what lunch had to supply him. What could Blaire want him to keep doing all year? Maybe the entire years he had left at school? Maybe he could skip a few more grades.

That meant leaving Eddie. 

Waylon didn’t like the prospect of leaving his new friend behind. 

Fuck Blaire.

“You could say that,” he sighed. “Miles is...kinda nutty in his own way. I think I just need a break from him. I’m too young for this drama. I should still be in middle school were it not for my grades. Well, maybe not. Maybe a freshman.”

He shook off the ramble coming at him and looked at Eddie.

“Come on. Forget Miles. Forget Blaire. Let’s walk to school together.”

Eddie was in no position to decline the offer, nor could he see a reason not to do it. Waylon was his friend. It didn’t matter what the others thought, or what Waylon’s other friends might say. It felt good, to be that confident in a person.

Walking to school with someone felt nice too.

“If you don’t mind me asking...how old are you?”

Waylon grinned as they made their way downstairs, the sweet aroma of today’s lunch coaxing them to the kitchen. There, his mom was already tucking all their food into boxes, perfect for the recipes she’d executed with perfect mom-skills.

“I’m, er, fifteen,” he said.

“It’s reassuring to know he’s made a friend older than him,” his mom interrupted, because that’s what parents did. “I was very worried skipping grades might be too difficult, even if he’ll hit sweet sixteen in just a few weeks.”

“Mom…”

“Yes, yes, I know.” She smiled and handed Eddie his own box. “Feel free to keep the box, as we have so many anyway. Just bring it if you guys have more tutoring sessions before school. I can make you lunch too, no trouble at all. Do you two want a ride?”

“No, no, we’re fine,” Waylon added quickly, muttering as he put his box into his bag. “We’re not little kids.”

“I know, but you’re my baby still.”

“Mom!”

“Thank you, Mrs Park,” Eddie responded politely, holding on to the box like it was his christmas present. This woman was so kind, that’s how he envisioned a perfect life to be. Waylon had it so good, he didn’t even know it.

“I’ve never had korean food before.” It seemed to be a nice topic for the woman, whose kitchen decor definitely hinted at her interest in asian cuisine. Was it polite to ask where her husband was from? Or too nosy?

Mrs. Park seemed all too enthusiastic to engage with Eddie, to the mortification of her son. Still, far be it from Waylon to interrupt Eddie. He looked so grateful. It didn’t require prodigal leaps to conclude the lack of motherly doting Eddie grew up with.

“Oh, then you’re in for a treat!” She nodded, pride swelling. “I make the best around, better than the Korean restaurants around here. I might not be Korean, but I do have a passion for the cuisine. I lived in South Korea for a while too. Of course, that’s where my romance began.”

Waylon repressed a need to groan. His mother was a heartbeat short from clasping her face in nostalgia. She was forever young, never mind how many wrinkles she’d get.

“I learned to cook to save money there,” she told Eddie, as if she had all the time in the world. “And then I got better to impress Waylon’s father. A man’s heart is reached through the stomach my mother told me.”

Waylon looked away, pretending to forget he had done the same thing for Eddie not that long ago.

“I’ve been teaching Way to cook too. It’s an important skill,” she said, then went into the cabinet and retrieved a moderately sized package of what looked like dumplings. “Because of your curiosity, I’m going to let you have this. It’s a new sweet I’m working on.”

Waylon wrinkled his nose as she offered the whole thing, but couldn’t stop smiling. He figured his generosity must have come from his mom. She was the type for it.

It was exactly the kind of sweet mothering Eddie missed from his own poor parent. He didn’t blame his mom, not for that, at least, since she had to feed the whole family. But just for now, he could give himself to the illusion that this could be his life. He tried the dumplings, expressed his delight for the delicious food and smiled with Mrs Park. Maybe he could come over more often, if only to be her guinea pig. He’d gladly volunteer himself for that.

The clock struck an end to the little daydream though. They’d have to leave now, or face meeting Blaire as they tried to sneak in late.

Waylon didn’t know who was more disappointed, his mom or Eddie. He went with the latter, but knew the former would find a way to remedy that. Once his mom latched onto something or someone she liked, it was a herculean effort to break free.

On the way to school, he apologized for his mom, and learned quickly that Eddie had no qualms about it. In fact, he seemed happier because of it. Waylon decided he could endure mom embarrassment if it kept Eddie almost smiling like he was now.

They parted ways for homeroom, and reunited in science. There, Waylon hesitated as he walked by Miles. He’d been ignoring his messages, and now with Blaire on him, he was tempted to tell Miles. He might have, were it not for the zeal and hunger in Miles’ eyes. Too unstable for Waylon’s comfort.

“Sorry,” was all he said, meaning it. Maybe when Miles didn’t look so starved to talk to him he’d let him.

So it went, feeling guilty and content in one. He liked being with Eddie, enjoyed his company as much as he regretted leaving Miles to stew in his own theories about, well, whatever it was that went on in that pretty head of his.

At least he didn’t have to see him at lunch.

Lunch.

Waylon’s good mood dissipated by the time it rolled around. Even during his computer class of solitude, he kept peeking at the door, expecting Blaire’s face to haunt him. It didn’t, at least, not until lunch.

He didn’t meet him in the cafeteria. Already a bad omen.

Waylon came into the hallway he was told to meet Blaire, not surprised he was early. Blaire probably wanted him to wait, to untangle with the unknown of what will happen, of what new favor he’d tag on with his laptop request (demand). The jerk must get off just making people wait most of the time.

Making people wait, and making people jump. 

“Park!”


	8. Tainted Love

Blaire’s voice came from behind, a sharp tone despite the lack of other voices in the hallway. This time, Jeremy had come alone. And he didn’t look half as clean as usual. There was muss to his hair, and a tousle to his clothes. He was even still buttoning up his shirt.

“Did I scare you? No need to be so nervous, friend.”

Blaire had scared him, enough that Waylon’s body went up a few millimeters. Clasping a hand to his chest to steady his heart, he stared at the taller boy, taken off kilter by his less than perfectly sleek state.

Well, at least they were alone. Why was Blaire buttoning up his clothing though?

“You came up from behind,” Waylon pointed out, taking a few steps backs to even out their distance. “Where...are your friends?”

“At lunch. They take breaks from gooning, you know.” Blaire seemed in a rather frivolous mood, his smile not as slick and shark-like as usual. At least he’d fixed up his clothing, but the shirt couldn’t hide the angry red mark on his neck.

“Shall we? You look like a deer in the headlights.”

Waylon struggled to make sense of this version of Blaire, who had to fix his hair up and had markings on his otherwise smooth skin. Waylon fixed on them, maybe because he didn’t want to believe what they represented.

He grimaced.

“You were...at school?” He kept his distance, somehow more repulsed by Blaire than ever before.

“What?” Blaire seemed lost on Waylon’s tone, couldn’t quite fathom what he’d done to deserve such scrutiny, when he saw that gaze on his neck. Oh, that little-

“Fuck. Just...don’t stare, alright Park? Focus. I have a life, get over it.” Jeremy snapped now, wanting to move this along with preferably less of that look.

Waylon almost flinched. Seeing Blaire in a moderately disheveled state proved enough to keep him from feeling completely intimidated. He kept staring for a while, then forced his gaze away, not wanting to care what Blaire did in closets with other students. Was it another student?

“I wouldn’t call that having a life,” he said beneath his breath, then straightened. “Fine. Can we get this over with now?”

“Oh? Did you have a bad morning, Park? You’re being extremely rude and uncooperative.” Blaire was still all razor blades, even with a hickey on his neck. Who had put it there would forever remain a mystery to Waylon, certainly.

They were headed to an empty classroom, the door to which was locked behind Waylon when they were both inside. Blaire put his bag on the table, motioning for Waylon to start on his laptop.

“Just making sure no one interrupts your work.”

Quite the contrary, Waylon had a great morning, and Blaire yet again confirmed his knack for rotting good moods. Waylon’s determination to maintain it must have sharpened his tongue without his approval.

“Sorry if I’m not enthusiastic about being locked in a room,” he said, silently cursing himself for pushing it with the smart mouth. He bit it and pulled Blaire’s laptop toward him, not looking at him once.

Before he opened it, Waylon had the need for gloves. Crap. Too late now. He opened it, almost pulling a face as he started up his work, the tap of his strokes easing his tension, but only by a small amount.

“I think we need to clear the air,” he said as he kept his eyes on his work. “I...will talk to your grandpa and consider helping with what he needs, but after that, and for any other side requests you get before that, I...decline. I don’t...feel comfortable doing it.”

“What the hell got into you and died?” Blaire had gotten himself comfortably situated on a table, watching Waylon work with crossed arms. He looked terribly unimpressed by the demands now made.

“The hell do you think I’m up to? Selling people into slavery? Drugs? Shit, Park, you think I roll like that?”

Waylon kept tapping and clicking, anything to prevent looking over at Blaire, who seemed too interested in watching him work. What was Blaire doing exactly? He had the feeling either Blaire wouldn’t tell him, or he would, and Waylon would wish he hadn’t.

“I...don’t know how you roll,” he answered honestly. “I’m just telling you how it makes me feel.”

“And you think I care. That’s cute Park. Just do the favour I asked of you and we’ll be done. Until you’ve talked to gramps. After that, I have a feeling we’ll see each other again.” Blaire grew bored of watching Waylon’s fingers hound the keyboard and he began to walk up and down. He seemed entirely restless.

“I caught Miles trying to tap into my files. Just making sure he keeps out of my things. Nothing more.”

Waylon grit his teeth as he did as he was ordered to, feeling much more like a pet than a student doing Blaire a favor. And for sure as hell not his friend. Still, Miles’ infatuation with digging dirt up on Blaire was entering the realm of his consideration.

“You two have,” Waylon trailed off. Best not to ask. “There. Done.”

He shut the laptop hard and shoved it across the desk.

“Thanks.” Blaire took the laptop and slid it back into his bag, looking as nonchalant as before. He certainly didn’t see what Waylon did as a huge favour that required him to show further gratitude. It was just an encryption, right? There was no need to act so huffy as Waylon did.

“You’re really getting into it with Gluskin, hm?”

It was the worst topic to bring up now, given Waylon’s agitation level. He grabbed his own bag and pushed away from the table, making sure he skirted around Blaire, as if his very presence saturated the air with something hazardous.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, unlocking the door. “Bye.”

Just this once, Blaire allowed Waylon to run off like that, without permission. He turned to the closet instead, crossing his arms once more.

“You’re one slippery rat, Upshur.”

**-x-**

It felt like it went on for months like that, though in reality it had been a couple of weeks. Days began with high spirits, with Eddie coming by at least three times a week to be tutored. During those early mornings, Waylon felt at his highest, even with his mom doing her mom thing. Eddie liked her, so that was enough for him.

They’d partner up in science, and Miles was an issue on the back burner. Each day Waylon hoped his friend would have reined himself in. Each day he was proven wrong. He continued talking to Miles’ friends, Lisa and Sarah (she was not apologetic for telling Miles about Waylon’s deal) especially. He promised to hang out with them after school when he’d settle things down with Miles.

For now, he knew he was prioritizing Eddie, balancing a life with two sets of interests. He had plans to invite Eddie to lunch, soon. Right now they were still in shallow, calm waters of their friendship, and Waylon didn’t want to jeopardize that.

They even shared lunch time together, under the bleachers. Most of the time.

When it wasn’t most of the time, it was because Blaire had curled his finger and Waylon shuffled after him each time, though each time he’d say it would be the last. He hadn’t met with the principal yet on these favors. Somehow he figured Blaire wasn’t planning to let him yet until he did all these side requests.

It was eighteenth time when Waylon confirmed a darker side to Blaire.

He had been tapping away as per usual, irritated if Blaire came to hover over his shoulder, but saying nothing. Then he had gotten too bold, too angered that his good days were being sullied by this pompous jerk.

“This is the last time,” he said, looking over his work. “I don’t care what your grandpa wants. I’m done. I’m...I’m not a lapdog, okay?”

Blaire hadn’t said anything right away to that, and that had tipped Waylon off to something. He should have bolted, but he was too late when Blaire smashed his face into the table, held him there with the force of his arrogance.

“I thought you were smart,” Blaire said in a whisper in his ear. “I know you are. Don’t prove me wrong, Park.”

He pushed harder, and Waylon squirmed, not to get away from Blaire, but just the pain throbbing on the right side of his face. He had to wonder if all the times he had flinched, stepped away from Blaire gave away how little tolerance he had for pain. Maybe Blaire had been holding back, letting his fear fester, then settle, then spike up in a sudden act of violence against him.

“Well, Park? Are you a smart kid, or not?”

Waylon didn’t want to whimper. He hoped he didn’t.

With effort he managed to breathe out, “Y-Yeah…”

The hand tangled in his hair softened, stroking.

“Good. I hate seeing your nice face have to get ugly.”

Waylon groaned as he was let go. He sat up, fingers trembling as he touched his face, felt the tenderness around his eye. Shit. He hoped it wasn’t bruising. It was, with the force Blaire had made him see spots. He looked up.

Blaire smiled his way as he packed his laptop up again.

“Look at you. You should get some ice for that.”

Waylon looked down.

“Look on the bright side, Park. You’re doing great work. I know that. Maybe one day you’ll upgrade to a higher status in this school with my help.”

Waylon doubted that, but peeked up all the same, knowing Blaire expected him to.

“There you go.” His smile sharpened. “I’ll see you Friday night.”

“Fr...what?”

“Fine. Lunch on Friday. See, I’m not totally unreasonable. See you, Park.”

Waylon didn’t leave yet. He waited, being sure Blaire wasn’t going to come back, then rushed out. His feet guided him before he knew where he was going. It wasn’t to get ice, or to finish lunch with Eddie.

It was more than easy to find Miles. The guy had pretty much been looking for him everyday during their free time. He found him snooping around a hallway.

Waylon stopped. He knew Miles would notice his face.

“Sorry,” he said after a beat. “For thinking you were wrong about him.”

Miles didn’t give Waylon the honour of being acknowledged straight away. He’d spent too much time avoiding him in the last weeks. Technically, it would only be fair if Waylon now had to chase after Miles for his attention.

But the curious and suspicious mind had no time for that kind of pettiness.

“Mhm. What changed your mind? Not that I don’t want to scream I told you so in your face right now, you understand.” Bitterness didn’t even begin to encapsulate Miles’ tone of voice.

Waylon accepted Miles’ tone, bratty as it was. How could Waylon have known there was truth to someone’s delusions? Hell, he hardly knew if Miles’ conspiracy theory had much weight, or any beyond investigating.

Still, Waylon decided the apology was founded, and he allowed Miles his need to convey that.

“He did this to my face,” he said, coming closer so only Miles could hear. He didn’t need more ears picking up on his drama. “And...well, I can put something on his laptop to show you what files I’ve been...hiding and stuff. He wants me to create a program too, but I don’t know much about that yet…”

Miles looked at Waylon’s damaged visage, but said nothing more about it. Blaire was getting more violent by the day, really. He must be wanting what Waylon could give very badly. Which meant it was important. Good thing the new kid had come to him with this, at last. At least he knew that Miles was on top of any information he was willing to slide out of Blaire’s control.

“Alright,” Miles flicked out a notebook, pages already filled with scribbles and notes. He flipped to a clean page for Waylon though.

“What have you seen so far? Any names, files, folders, anything that might seem odd?”

Waylon detailed what he could, even on things that seemed arbitrary. What did he know of what was most important? Blaire kept him behind the scenes for the most part. Even with access to his laptop, Waylon would have to plant something to monitor what Blaire did with it to offer any kind of conclusion.

“I saw the name Murkoff in a couple of files,” he added, listing others he could remember. “Look, I’ll...put a tracking on his laptop, but you...please don’t get me in more trouble with him for helping you, okay? He looks at me...differently now. I don’t know how to describe it. But it makes me feel like I’m naked. I don’t want more hassle so...keep it on the down low?”

“I’m all about the down low,” Miles seemed distracted, the name Murkoff had him promptly take out his phone and tap away at things unknown to Waylon. Murkoff struck a chord, a company that had its fingers in everything in this godforsaken town. Incidentally, they’d also sponsored the new labs for their school.

It was definitely something he would be looking into. Miles had a feeling that Waylon’s information was key.

“I won’t get you in trouble. I never meant to drag you into this shit, and as I recall, that was Blaire.”

Fair enough. Waylon nodded, rather feeling it was really his own fault for letting Blaire drag him along. It was one hope to imagine standing up when it mattered most, and Waylon felt the fierce potential for it, but in real life execution, Waylon came to expect disappointment.

“Sorry I ignored you,” he said. “But you do get a little intense.” He tried out a smile. “Still friends?”

“Don’t know about that, Park. You were pretty much an ass to me.” Miles feigned offense, really he didn’t think so much of it. He didn’t act any special way around people to be social, he was just himself. The only reason he had friends was thanks to his magnetic, energetic personality.

“Yeah, water under the bridge. Besides, I think Lisa is hardcore invested in spending time with you, and that was difficult with you avoiding me. She’s pretty into you.”

Waylon had a throbbing face to keep him from overthinking on Lisa. Just one more issue thrown into the drama of his life. Well, an issue he supposed he didn’t mind when juxtaposed with the others.

“To be fair, you were kind of rude to me.” Waylon didn’t tag on how much he hated yelling, but for Miles, he already let it pass. He was weird, but Waylon liked him all the same. “But thanks. I just wanted to survive school and get out as fast as possible.”

He hesitated to bring it up, but Miles did like a good scoop, didn’t he?

“There’s this other thing. I saw Blaire today and...well, he had just been...er...doing...stuff with someone. He had marks on his neck and everything. Do you think it’s with another student? It seems so trashy to do it in school. What if it’s a teacher?”

Miles looked up from his phone when Waylon said that. And he stared, clearly stricken with thought.

“Like...make out marks, that kind of thing right? Did you grow up under a rock, Park? That kind of shit is normal at highschool. Seriously, watch a movie now and then. That’s the only part that’s alike. Okay, and the drama, maybe.”

Miles also suddenly seemed in a rush, packing away phone and notepad.

“So, listen, you’ll tell me when you’ve done the thing, obviously, and how I’ll get the stuff I need. We’re cool, no lingering a-hole-ness, and when you’ve put some ice on that pretty face of yours, you might think about whether or not you’ve got the balls to date Lisa. Until then, I gotta go, busy busy busy!”


	9. I Disappear

Waylon had every right to protest it wasn’t normal. Why would you want to unleash a flurry of hormones at highschool of all places? Then again, Waylon didn’t want to admit if he’d found himself in a confined space with someone he might have liked, the cap he’d retightened year after year on his impulses might pop off.

At Miles’ declaration tough, Waylon had to stare harder at his friend as he packed up, wondering if he got it on as well. Not that Waylon wanted to picture Miles doing...that, as it made him feel all sorts of funny, but his friend had a pull that could probably get anyone’s pants or skirt off.

For a moment, he was sure he saw a mark that would prove that, but then Miles was dashing off into the void of truth and justice (that only he could see) before Waylon could remark on it.

He sighed, went to the nurse with a pre-planned excuse for his face, got his ice, and went to salvage the last few minutes of lunch he had with Eddie.

“Hey,” he greeted as he came between the poles to reach Eddie. He felt stupid holding ice to his face. “Sorry. Had a...thing. Did you finish eating already?”

“What...your face.” Eddie wasn’t going to pretend for one second that the lovely bruise forming on Waylon’s face wasn’t there. But he also had a peculiar approach to commenting on someone’s injuries. One that didn’t invite any such actual commentary, or question as to whom was to blame.

Besides, in Waylon’s case, it was easy to guess.

“Blaire.”

Eddie’s fists tightened by his sides, and he looked down, something going on in his head that he didn’t want to share with Waylon, not yet, possibly not ever. But he swore something to himself. If Blaire would continue to abuse Waylon...Eddie wouldn’t care for his graduation. Eddie would end this, settle the matter, the only way he knew how. And even though it would only benefit maybe Waylon in the long run, Eddie would at least know the feeling of being capable of protecting someone he tentatively cared for.

“Here. The ice alone won’t make it heal,” Eddie dug into his bag and found something, a battered tube, “It’s arnica salve...just sit down here. I’ll do it.”

“It wasn’t Blaire.”

It was a meek effort in denial, and Waylon didn’t have the energy to keep it up. Eddie didn’t seem intent on pushing for details, causing Waylon to suspect the nature of the bruises Eddie himself tried to hide with clothing or angling his head one way or another.

Guess neither of them would pry.

So Waylon sat beside him, flinched at the salve, but lingered for the touch.

After a few moments of Eddie precariously close to his face, his rough fingertips grazing his skin, Waylon smiled as much as he could without the pain worsening.

“You’re really a good person,” he said. He knew his heart was doing things beyond his control.

It was a different feeling than the one in his stomach, which acted up sometimes around Miles and most often with Lisa. Of course Blaire too, but for unpleasant reasons. Waylon didn’t know if what his heart was doing had a label, or what it really meant, but it was escalating the longer Eddie touched him.

“Would you come see me for my birthday?”

There was no tact in the sudden question, a little tense and too loud given how close Eddie already was.

Eddie had enjoyed the very quiet atmosphere of what they were doing. There was something odd about being allowed to touch Waylon’s face, even though they were friends. He remembered something his father had said once, that boys couldn’t be soft, that they had to be hard and tough and always ready. Waylon’s face didn’t feel hard or tough. It was actually really soft, the bruised skin beneath Eddie’s fingertips. Tender, of course, so he tried to be as gentle as he was with his little sister, who cried at the slightest of pressure applied when he treated the bruises on her.

Waylon was special. Definitely. Not just because he was and wanted to be Eddie’s friend, or maybe that made it even more obvious. Waylon was kind, and soft, and no less a person or a male because of it. Actually, it made him kind of great. Eddie knew what kind of home Waylon had, and truth be told, he was envious of his friend’s life. He really began to wonder what his own life would be like, given those circumstances. He used to wish for a life like those on some of the cheesy old TV shows he watched when he could. Now, he wanted a life like Waylon’s. Full of care, and warmth, and comfort, a life that let Waylon be sweet and kind without breaking him apart or changing him at all.

He kind of lost himself in thought, touching Waylon’s face for far longer than necessary. The question caught him completely off guard and maybe Eddie’s jaw went a little slack at the prospect of a birthday celebration. Clearly, he didn’t remember his own, and that was alright, he didn’t want to remember the special gifts his father had given to him.

But Waylon would probably have a party, right?

“It’s your birthday? When?”

“Next Sunday. I haven’t...told anyone. I don’t want a party or anything.”

Waylon tried not to lean into the touch or notice how gentle Eddie was, just as he didn’t want to ask how often Eddie had experienced a similar situation that made him an expert in application. Maybe another time when it wouldn’t soil whatever it was going on between them. It was a new kind of silence Waylon had liked, and then interrupted with his loose tongue.

“But I’d like to do something with you. We can work around your work, or…”

He hesitated, but had to try. “Forget work. Whatever money you were going to earn that day, I’ll double it.” He winced. “Not that I’m paying you to be my friend, but birthdays are supposed to be special, right? I never really wanted to celebrate mine as much as I do this year, and I know I want to do it with you. So...God, I’m not really good at this, am I?”

Unwilling to let Eddie see his shame, he looked at the grass, started plucking it again.

The atmosphere was on the brink of becoming uncomfortable. As nice as it would be to have double than what he made at his side job, Eddie could not get aligned with the notion of having Waylon pay for his company. That brought him into a line of thought that had nothing to do with friendship.

“No, Waylon, I don’t want your money,” he frowned, capped the salve and stuffed it deep into his bag. He didn’t want to disappoint his friend though. Maybe he could just...do something that he wanted for once in his damn life.

“You know, I think I can have one day off...I’m always working overtime there, so it should be okay,” it wouldn’t be and Eddie knew that, but right now, he damned it all to hell, “I’ll...what do you want to do? I’m yours on sunday.”

Waylon had braced himself for rejection, well earned. He had essentially tried to pimp Eddie out for his own pleasure, and the taste was still in his mouth from asking. He felt as if he had deserved the cuts and bruising on his face now.

Eddie didn’t reject him. Waylon’s head shot up.

As he processed the realization, he grinned, pain be damned.

He conveniently ignored the voice that asked if Eddie could be his longer than that.

“Yeah? That’s great! Come over in the morning then. I’ll think of something for us to do.” He laughed, fueled by Eddie’s statement. “Nothing too much for you though, I promise. I can’t wait.”

The bell was ringing as he spoke, and Waylon might have interpreted as a means to take action, which he did, in the form of leaning over to hug Eddie fiercely before he was rushing off to make it in time across the campus to his next class.

“See you then!”

Only later would he realize he had just hugged Eddie Gluskin, and how good it had felt. 

The hug went over well, and the thought of spending an entire day with his friend fuelled Eddie through the rest of friday and all of saturday. 

Disaster came to him in the form of realizing he didn’t know what to give to Waylon as a present, and the result was a minor crisis on saturday night during which Eddie tore through his room and threw everything into a frustrated heap, realizing he had nothing that would do.

Sunday morning came too fast for Eddie, but too slowly for his eager anticipation.

It was Waylon’s father, home for once (of course, he would not miss his only son’s birthday) who woke him up with an affectionate blow of an air-horn. 

“Good morning birthday boy! Time to haul butt out of bed and eat cake for breakfast Way!”

Waylon unknowingly shared Eddie’s conflicted feelings toward time, though it probably went by slower for him. Hacking Blaire’s laptop under his nose and slipping Miles the USB that would reveal the last few day’s worth of his exploits made him paranoid, and paranoia had a way of stopping time, making it feel like danger lurked at each second.

So when Sunday came in the form of bursting his eardrums, he took it in good stride.

“You do that every year and it still makes my heart stop,” he groaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Okay, okay. I’m up.”

He tensed.

“Eddie’s not here yet, right?”

Learning that he wasn’t, Waylon bolted past his dad and hurried to get ready and look as presentable as he could. He even took longer than usual to pick out his outfit, settling for khakis and a button down. A belt too, maybe? He didn’t need it but maybe he’d look more polished.

He went without the belt, tried on three shirts to put with the button-down, selected the one that matched Eddie’s eyecolor (totally random, he would swear by it), and left a couple buttons undone at top.

By the time he heard the doorbell and his mom answering the door, Waylon was staggering down the stairs. At least the bruising on his face had lifted. It had been a task to convince his parents he’d fallen on his face. Maybe they believed him, maybe they knew too well how he’d managed at the old school with ‘accidents’.

It didn’t matter today.

It was his birthday and Eddie was here.

Waylon’s father had heard of this friend of course, but had yet to meet the boy. It wasn’t surprising to him that his son had finally successfully established contact with a human being, but he did raise an eyebrow at how much Waylon FUSSED over looking good for his friend. Perhaps this Eddie was more to his son than suspected.

In any case, Hyo Park was a man that welcomed guests into his house and family with pride and respect. So what if the boy (young man) in the door before his wife was kind of...big, strapped with muscle for his age, had an almost shaved head and wore oddly home-made clothing that resembled a suit?

“Hello Eddie, I’m Waylon’s dad. Call me Hyo. Or Mr Park”

Eddie was glad that he was familiar with Mrs Park’s heartiness, so her husband didn’t intimidate him all too much. Well, it would be difficult for anyone to be intimidated by Hyo Park, a not particularly tall, smiling korean man with streaks of silver lining his dark hair.

“Hello...sir.” Eddie smiled softly for Waylon, “Happy birthday Waylon.”

Waylon maneuvered around his dad to coax Eddie in. Not that his dad had an issue with the large guy occupying most of the space of the doorway. In fact, Mr. Park seemed pleased that Waylon had finally landed a friend worth bringing over to his family.

“Thanks,” he said. “Mom’s almost done with breakfast, I think, so we can eat first.”

“Have you decided what you two are going to do?” his mom’s voice drifted out now that she had returned to the kitchen. 

Waylon had thought about it, daily, obsessively. In truth, there wasn’t anything he really wanted to do. Or rather, he didn’t care what he did, so long as Eddie was having a good time.

“I actually wanted to ask you,” he told Eddie. “I’m not one for going out much. You’re always working though. There’s got to be something you’d like to do? Don’t feel bad because it’s my birthday. I’m going to have the best cake around later.”

“Uhm...” Eddie didn’t really know how to deal with that question. What did he want to do? Sure, there millions of things that came to his mind when he was at home or even at school, but now, put on the spotlight like this? Nothing came into his thoughts at all.

“It’s your birthday though...it’s all about you.”

Mr Park had joined his wife in the kitchen, sneaking affections more than actually helping, but it had her giggle slightly and bat at him. Though they’d been married a long time, the lengthy business trips he took kept them very much in need of each other. Eddie couldn’t help but stare out of the corner of his eye.

“Why don’t you boys go spend some of your birthday money? Play lazer tag or paintball or something kids your age do?” 

“This isn’t the 90’s, dad,” Waylon said under his breath. 

Still, credit had to be due. Something casual, something that wouldn’t overwhelm either of them. First though, a hearty meal to fuel their not-quite adventures. Well, adventures for their type anyway.

“Come on. Food first, then I have an idea for where to go.”


	10. Under Pressure

Breakfast with the Parks was not a quiet event. In between his mom and dad sharing...affection, dated as it felt, Waylon and Eddie had a series of questions handed their way. Nothing too personal, for the Parks had tact, a skill their son had yet to develop, and so as not to disrupt the good mood Eddie was in.

There was enough food for another family. Plus, presents from his parents to open before he took off. As usual, his dad gave him a gag gift along with his ‘real’ one. This year, the bulk of new hardware parts Waylon had wanted came with a string of condoms.

He gaped at it, then went so red he’d shame a lobster.

Even his mom had to stare and she lightly smacked her husband’s arm.

“What? Didn’t we agree that education was the best form of safety? Knowledge is power and all that.”

“Dad!”

His mom sighed and shook her head. “We only had the talk with him not even a full year ago--”

“I learned it at school before you told me about it, in great detail, thanks,” Waylon half-shouted, mortification keeping his voice at a panic-shrill. Of course that just made his dad laugh more.

“Oh, never mind him,” his mom said, though she looked like she might laugh too, if only because her husband’s laugh was contagious and made her laugh too. Waylon swore to all deities that his parents were perpetually teenagers sometimes. “Just...put them away. Here, open mine.”

Waylon moaned as he took her gift, opening it with less enthusiasm than his dad’s.

Like his dad, his mom always threw in an extra, somewhat silly gift. To her, it wasn’t, and Waylon wouldn’t dare tell her otherwise. Inside, a few books he’d been eager to read, and--

“What are these?”

“Friendship charms!” She seemed so excited that it almost spread to Waylon. “Aren’t they cute? I saw them at the market, you know the one where the old man gives me extra treats when I buy pounds of the meat? There was this little booth next door and I thought they would be perfect for you and Eddie. Look.”

She pointed out the thick material, bands woven, hand-made, and supposedly represented symbols of friendship and all that. Waylon didn’t know how much was true, but he had to be grateful they were at least masculin. She could have picked something frilly without consideration.

“Um...thanks,” he said, unable to get any redder. 

“Well? Give that one to Eddie. It matches his eyes. Kind of like your shirt, huh?”

It was charming, how affectionate the Parks were. Eddie had a feeling this wasn’t just put on for Waylon’s birthday. He was almost immune to second hand embarrassment, until Waylon’s mom pointed out what should have been blindingly obvious. The blue of his own eyes suddenly seemed to be everywhere and Eddie had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but it kind of made him happy. Like he was part of the Parks’ life all of a sudden.

Deciding that Waylon’s embarrassment was bad enough, he reached over for one of the bracelets. He never really wore anything on his arms, but he liked the way it looked when he slipped it on. Like he and Waylon were connected by these silly little things.

“It’s pretty,” he muttered, before shutting rather quickly. He was supposed to not like things like this, right? 

Waylon had been considering stuffing the bracelets somewhere in his room when his mom wasn’t looking. That idea withered away the longer he looked at Eddie’s face. For all of Waylon’s embarrassment, Eddie never looked more content. Waylon’s heart did that thing, only with a new pang added.

“Yeah, it is pretty,” he said to Eddie, then slipped on his own bracelet. It made his mom happy, Eddie happier, and so that made him happy too, didn’t it?

They wrapped things up efficiently after that, jokes and all included. By the time he and Eddie breached fresh air, Waylon didn’t feel so red, and didn’t really mind his parents at all anymore. When Eddie insisted there was nothing to apologize for, Waylon agreed, and lead the way away from his house.

Luckily the district could be reached by crossing through a man-made ecosystem. The lake was calm, dotted with admirers and travelled by a few joggers. Waylon slowed his pace when he saw Eddie watching the water winking at them thanks to the sunlight.

Funny enough, they walked in silence most of the time. A comfortable kind that calmed Waylon instead of fuel his anxiety.

When they finally reached the theater, he spoke, feeling very at peace.

“I figured a movie is harmless,” he said in way of explanation. “I got free movie tickets so it’s on me. Well, my parents technically. I got them last year for my birthday. Do you...have a preference for movies?”

It felt a little surreal, to just be out and enjoying the day instead of worrying what came in the evening. Eddie liked this kind of careless freedom, and for once, he thought he deserved a little bit of this. With Waylon, he felt comfortable, and no longer lonely. It was so damn nice to have a friend.

“I really...maybe a horror movie? I don’t know why, but I like gore.” Eddie hoped that wouldn’t weird Waylon out, and he amended his suggestion just in case. “But action or comedy is fine too. Actually...maybe comedy. There’s no reason to gross you out on your birthday.”

Horror strayed far from Waylon’s interest. As it were, his life was part-horror, and the serial killer at the end of the massacre was Jeremy Blaire. It might have been his birthday, but he toughed it out with a smile.

“Horror’s fine,” he said, and bought their tickets before Eddie could stop him.

Once in, he treated them with a couple of snacks, regretting not sneaking some in. Too soon they were settling in a dark, cool room, in a relatively empty theater for the most part. It was better that way.

He shared his snack with Eddie, and vice versa. They didn’t really talk as they waited.

Waylon was a bundle of nerves though now that he sat. Walking might have kept him distracted at the time he realized. Now it was just him sitting close to Eddie, knees close to one another, shoulders almost bumping if Waylon leaned inches to one side.

The impact of his thoughts overcame him. Since he couldn’t really watch the movie, he fixated on Eddie’s knee. He had long legs. Strong. Of course he did. He did physical labor. His hands were big too, and rough, but Waylon liked that. Eddie’s body was filled with chapters of storytelling.

Waylon couldn’t deny he wanted to read it all.

He didn’t know how long he sat thinking, looking at Eddie as much as he dared. At some point, he got real with himself and acknowledged the pitter-pattering of his heart was because he liked Eddie. Not just as a friend.

However long he had spent thinking about Eddie’s knee or hands or shoulders, he thought twice as long about jeopardizing what they had. Could he risk it? What was the point? Relationships were beyond his field, and he had been fine with that. He was only sixteen, brimming with hormones, but capable of distracting himself from it.

Fucking dark room, breathing in Eddie’s smell was doing a fine good job of telling him otherwise.

It was the trapped-in-a-small space scenario he’d dreaded and expected to never be in. The cap to his feelings quivered under the pressure of his emotions, and popped right off at the same time someone screamed in the movie.

Maybe if he made it look like it could be an accident…

Waylon swallowed hard, feeling more terrified than any of the few spectators watching the movie. Slowly, he crept his hand along his own leg, angled it so it brushed against Eddie’s hand.

The movie wasn’t spectacular on plot, but few of its genre could still claim that. It had the obligatory bunch of stupid teens doing stupid shit and getting killed in gruesome ways though, and somehow, Eddie relished in their bloody deaths. Maybe because he imposed the faces of some people he knew onto those actors, and maybe because thoughts of similar situations had crossed his mind more than once. There was familiarity in the kind of absurd violence of these movies, and if Eddie had any kind of person who would care for his mental state, they’d be concerned by that.

As it happened though, the return to reality came in form of Waylon’s hand. Which crept until it rested beside his. He really must not like horror movies. Eddie felt kind of bad for forcing the idea upon his friend. His hand moved naturally, offered to Waylon in the comfortable dark of the cinema. Eddie would never tell a soul that Waylon was scared of horror movies, he promised that with the light squeeze.

When Eddie took hold of his hand, Waylon’s heart sputtered. He was so surprised he couldn’t even relish the first few seconds of that heat engulfing his smaller hand. Then, as delight washed over him, his paranoia bit him hard.

Given that Eddie had taken his hand too quickly, Waylon had to suspect that root of why. Did Eddie think he was scared?

Fuck.

Where was Miles when you needed his skills.

He squeezed Eddie’s hand back, then bit his lip.

He waited, considered how crazy he was being, then slowly pulled Eddie’s hand onto his thigh. His thumb brushed over Eddie’s hand.

Now, Eddie was starting to get distracted. His hand was somewhere warm, and the way Waylon’s thumb stroked over the back of it didn’t suggest that Waylon was seeking comfort. In fact, it suggested something rather different, something that had Eddie’s skin erupt into goosebumps and his throat go dry.

He didn’t dare look over, or move his hand. Waylon’s thigh was warm beneath his touch, but the heat felt more intense than he was comfortable with. Still, something in him wanted to see where this was going. In a speed that could have been overtaken by a glacier, Eddie leaned a little closer, until his shoulder brushed Waylon’s.

Eddie hadn’t recoiled. Relief flooded through Waylon. Then, Eddie touched his shoulder, another source of heat. Waylon bit down a grin.

Carefully, he untangled his hand from Eddie’s so the palm rested on his thigh (God, how that did things to Waylon). He placed his own hand atop Eddie’s, fingertips grazing the back of his knuckles, along his wrist.

He bumped his shoulder back gently, swallowed down his erratic heart, and rested his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

So far, so good. Waylon was pretty affectionate, but after witnessing his parents, Eddie had no trouble squaring this away to that behaviour. It was a bit weird, with the hand on his thigh now, but nothing more came of it. Eddie kind of liked the warm weight of Waylon’s head on his shoulder, and the way he could smell the scent of shampoo rise slightly to his nose. It was nice to be close like this, though Eddie was happy the theater was relatively empty. It kind of posed a ridiculous background, what with the blood and gore on the screen, but heck, his life was weird anyway.

Eddie moved his hand from Waylon’s leg in a bold move, threading it behind his friend so Waylon was kind of resting in a half-embrace.

The birthday gods favored Waylon today. True, the setting lacked conventional romanticism. Who cared when Eddie half embraced him though? Waylon made it better by wiggling free for enough space to move the arm rest barricading him from Eddie’s entire warmth.

Boldness swelled within him, and now he was sinking against Eddie’s side, gradually of course, his own hand coming to rest on Eddie’s knee.

He smiled and peeked up.

“You okay?” he asked, keeping his voice low and for Eddie’s ears only.

“Better than them, anyhow.” Eddie whispered, his eyes not straying from the screen. He didn’t shuffle himself away or anything, just kept being a solid presence for Waylon to sink against. His friend really seemed to let his affections flow free. How long had he waited to do this? Eddie tried not to think that Waylon might have been craving exactly this kind of thing all those days at school.

“You’re really cuddly, huh?”

Waylon chuckled. Maybe all his quiet years of avoiding this kind of interaction meant he had plenty reserved up to unleash on the person of his choosing, permission granted. Eddie was letting him be cuddly, and Waylon didn’t care that he was enjoying it as much as he was.

Why or how Eddie made him feel this way, he didn’t know, but then, did anyone really know, especially a budding teenager? Or maybe they knew it best, but so passionately they didn’t stop to give it names.

“Just with you,” he said, watching the way Eddie took in the movie. “I like...you, Eddie.”

Of course he would confess during a slaughter.

“Don’t know when I started to feel the way I do now, but I think it’s been creeping up on me.” Too nervous to watch Eddie’s expression, he rested his head down again. “Just wanted to let it out there...I like you a damn lot, Eddie Gluskin and this is the best birthday so far.”

“I’m glad,” Eddie responded, not processing what Waylon truly meant to say. To him, it just sounded like his friend was confirming his actual affection, and alright, maybe it was a little weird and closer than what Eddie knew, but it was still nice. Pleasant, even.

“I like you too Waylon. I’ve never had a friend like you.”

Or any friends at all.

Waylon should have long ago expected rejection, in whatever subtle form it took. It was a hard reality to take in when he was nestled against Eddie, having held hands, touched each other’s knees and legs, only to have it quarantined back to the innocence of friendship.

Waylon should have been grateful for that. He was, but it was the feeling that it was unfair to indulge in this when he felt more.

“Eddie,” he said softly after a moment, “I...think you should know. I’m starting to like you...more than a friend. I...my heart and stomach go crazy when I’m around you, I find myself thinking about you a lot, and smiling like an idiot, and every time you come over, I don’t think I can be happier.”

Oh. Well. That was a whole new ballpark. One Eddie didn’t know how to play in, not in the slightest. Waylon was pretty brave, admitting something like that. It was a bad thing, right? They were both...they couldn’t...Eddie didn’t know what to think. Maybe this was kind of like a warning shot? That he was in water too deep for him to navigate? Was this why Waylon had been so kind? Was it just like Sarah’s picture taking, with more intent behind it in a way unaccessible for Eddie?

“Oh. I...I don’t know what to...say to that, Waylon. What...do you want me to do?”

Waylon almost laughed at that. Of all things, he hadn’t expected that reaction. It tickled him in a good way as much as it warned him of the suspicions that might be brewing within Eddie. The guy didn’t seem to take good things coming at him as free.

“Eddie,” he whispered a little harder, gently tilting his friend’s face to look down and meet his gaze. “I’m not asking you to do anything. I’m telling you how I feel, because it’s the truth. You...fuck, I’m not being nice because I want something from you that you won’t give.”

His hand lingered on Eddie’s face. “I respect what we have too much to do that, but I think it’s unfair if you don’t know that I’m feeling this way now. So…”

He leaned up and planted a chaste kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth. It ended as quickly as he had the balls to do it, but the effect resonated with him.

“So you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, okay? But...if there is something you want to do, or want to try to do, I’m not going anywhere.”

The little innocent touch of Waylon’s lips to his had Eddie freeze for a moment. He really meant this. He really...really meant this. And it wasn’t a ploy to get something out of Eddie, at least, it couldn’t be when Waylon spilled his heart like that.

Eddie’s was pounding in his throat. Kisses were things he saw all around him, in plenty of forms, but receiving one had never been part of his experience in life. So far.

“...You just...you...want to do that, maybe, again?” he whispered before he could think about it.

Waylon leapt at the opportunity, seizing the feelings that told him to cup the side of Eddie’s face and press his lips against Eddie’s fully. The movie and its victims screamed on, begged, and Waylon hardly heard it over the thrum of his, or maybe it was Eddie’s heart.

His fingers smoothed over skin that had been bruised more than once, and his mouth landed plentiful butterfly kisses along Eddie’s mouth. It was silly, but Waylon seemed to do silly well.

It was weird, definitely. Eddie’s heart must be deafening the whole cinema, if not the block. Waylon was at his mouth, kissing, touching, in general being rather interested and yet tender with him. Eddie didn’t know what to make of this mess of feelings he had, but something had him yearn for more affirmation. So he pressed his lips to Waylon’s, parted them a little to invite just a bit more.

Semi-public venue or not, Waylon accepted the invite. Here though, he went slower, learning as he pretended to know what to do. His tongue popped out, peeking, withdrew, then tried again. When it finally grazed Eddie’s, a little sigh left him.

Maybe he could sympathize with why people did this so much.

The first kisses like this were trial and error, angling their heads for the right spot. When Waylon found it, he might have moaned (luckily drowned out by another death scene), and pulled Eddie’s head down, deepening the kiss.

It only ended when Waylon needed to suck in some air through his mouth. He’d been holding it in, not even thinking to breathe through his nose at first.

“Wow,” he breathed, fingers still drifting across Eddie’s jaw, “I’m not sure my birthday can get any better.”

“Uh...” wit was not part of Eddie right now. His heart was still pounding, but now, his stomach seemed in full revolt as well in some kind of fucked up sense of organ solidarity. He felt it as a simmering nausea at first, but when Waylon’s fingers tickled his skin with his soft touch, Eddie couldn’t ignore the feeling anymore. It was messy and abrupt, the way he got up and out of Waylon’s reach.

“I gotta go.”

He didn’t care for the glares as he hastily squeezed past the people at the end of the row. He also didn’t give Waylon the chance to call out to him, with the way he rushed out of the theater.

Eddie ran three blocks before he stopped, and threw up behind a bush. He was trembling, and he knew what was coming. The flood was unstoppable once it got to this point and he hated how powerless he felt, how he could only shudder and wait until it passed. The memories that flowed through his mind would make the horror movie look like a silly romantic comedy.


	11. Sail Away

Waylon took after Eddie a few heartbeats behind, dumbfounded. Eddie had responded well to the kisses, and yet now he looked terrified, sick. Waylon had seen the look on his face before he barreled out of the theater.

It took him a little longer to catch up, and by then, Eddie hunched over. Waylon knew what he’d done.

“Shit, Eddie,” he came over fast, ducked to see Eddie’s face. He reached out, but didn’t touch him. “Hey, you look as pale as a ghost.”

With Eddie looking like he was stuck replaying the same uneasy breath over and over, Waylon forgot his own hard breathing or the way his legs ached. He was only glad Eddie had stayed put. If he had kept running, he might never have found him.

“Here,” he said, trying to coax Eddie to sit. “Breathe deeply. It’s okay...do you need me to get you some water or, or...take you to the doctor?”

“No!” Eddie snapped, he could barely recognize Waylon’s face as he struggled through the horrors of his life. He kept hearing, seeing, remembering his father when...Oh god. Waylon couldn’t be seeing this. No one could see this.

“No. Please Waylon, just...just go home.” He wanted to be alone. Alone, he knew, alone was safe, and alone was peace. Waylon couldn’t be here. He made that anxious knot in his stomach worse. Eddie didn’t sit as suggested, he struggled back to his feet, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Shit. He’d ruined Waylon’s birthday. Of course he did. He always ruined things.

“I’m gonna go home. I...I’m sorry Waylon.”

Waylon almost did just that, but something more powerful rooted him to the spot.

“Eddie,” he pleaded, lightly touching his friend’s arm. “Look at me. You need to calm down, okay? I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here. Just...something made you run out. You don’t have to tell me what, but just let me...shit, come on.”

He tugged gently on Eddie’s arm. “I’ll go home, if you come with me. Please. I’ll take you home after. Just...I want to make sure you get some water in you and rest a little, okay?”

Eddie felt the anxious knot harden, and it made his whole body tense. Defense was his only response to Waylon’s concern. He yanked his arm away as if Waylon had plans to cut it off if he didn’t.

“I don’t want to. I’m going home Waylon. Leave me alone.”

Waylon didn’t reach for Eddie again, but didn’t leave either, not yet.

He couldn’t stop looking Eddie over, trying to dissect what had set him off. It didn’t seem likely Waylon had done something that upset Eddie, but the longer he watched Eddie’s back, the more he doubted himself.

All he could do was watch Eddie go.

**-x-**

Monday was shit. After Waylon’s return from the movie, his parents’ concern only made him want to cry. He hadn’t cried since he was eleven, and had vowed not to again for stupid reasons. Was this a stupid reason?

He didn’t know, but he didn’t sleep.

He felt like shit in the morning. The only thing worse than going to school, was not going to school. So despite the protest of his mom, Waylon went, albeit late. He skipped two periods, which pissed him off given he’d kind of wanted to see Eddie and figure out what had happened.

He’d have to wait for lunch.

But come lunch time, as he was treading out of his class and considering looking at what texts he missed from Miles, the bane of his existence waited for him.

Waylon obediently followed Blaire to a private classroom, got to work, almost forgot to add his little surprise tracking program. He didn’t once talk to Blaire, his head foggy, ears popping. Shit, he felt like he was running a fever.

A smack of a hand in front of him put him on alert again. He followed the arm up to Blaire’s face. It looked...sharper.

“You look under the weather.”

“Just a cold, I think,” Waylon said, dropping his gaze.

“I was telling you to come by the mansion this friday for a small party. Think of it as a mini celebration for all the hard work you’ve done. Plus, you gotta start working on the second phase of the project from the desktop there, hm?”

Waylon lacked anything to squirm out of that. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Very good,” Blaire said. Even his voice sounded different. Then again, the world did when you were fighting a bug.

Waylon left in one piece, rubbing his eyes. He shuffled to the bleachers, not sure if Eddie would be there, but he had to hope.

Waylon was out of luck. Eddie was not under the bleachers, but working off his lunch in the cafeteria. Not out front, at least the lunch lady boss had been kind enough to allow him that.

“Wow. You look rough buddy.”

Miles caught Waylon as he emerged after his unsuccessful venture beneath the bleachers. At least he had the human capability of sympathy as he slung a casual arm around Waylon’s shoulder.

“Long weekend?”

“You okay, Waylon?” Lisa’s concern was very real and made up for Sarah’s complete silence.

Hope had an easy way of dying, and Waylon didn’t think he could feel more miserable than when he crawled out on hands and knees. He was wrong as an arm too heavy for him came around him.

Genuine concern or not, their presence upset Waylon. He ducked out of Miles’ arm and didn’t look at them.

“Just not feeling well,” he said, hoping even Miles bought it. He already was walking away, heading toward the office. “I don’t really want to talk. Going to go home early.”

“Waylon, wait!” Lisa jogged to catch up, swatting Miles to go away in the process. There would be no shaking her off that easily. Sarah trailed behind a couple of steps.

“Waylon, what’s wrong? Come on, we’re your friends. I mean, you don’t look well, but something must be up. Blaire again? I’m gonna kick that ass into impotency if he did something!”

Small favors. Waylon had expected Miles to hound after him. When he heard Lisa’s voice, though it knotted his stomach, it was less than if it had been the alternative. For her sake, he slowed his pace.

“It’s not Blaire,” he said quickly. He glanced at her, then watched the grass crunch under his shoes. “It’s Eddie.” And because Sarah was there, he felt like he could unburden himself a little, though he lowered his voice. “We...We hung out yesterday. We...shit, we...um...kissed. And then out of nowhere he runs the fuck out,” he trailed on, dumping it all on these two because he felt like he would pass out if he kept it in any longer, letting it suffocate him.

“What...you did...what?” Lisa’s voice got kind of quiet, a little hurt even, but she was quick to cover that up. Waylon clearly needed her as a friend and support right now, so what if she felt a pinch of disappointment that Waylon had developed at least the urge to kiss Eddie Gluskin rather than her.

“Because you kissed? Did it...freak him out?”

“What the fuck Waylon.” Sarah had suddenly come to life, and she looked less than happy about it all.

“What do you mean you kissed him?!”

“Come on Sarah, shut the fuck up about that. He doesn’t need your shit right now.”

“To hell with that. What the fuck did you do to him, Park?!” Sarah was snapping angrily by now, despite the scalding glares from Lisa.

“Do you have something to do with it?!”

“Are you crazy, Sarah? Waylon would never hurt a fly!”

“Yeah? So why does he look like someone shoved him into a shredder, huh?!”

“It fucking wasn’t Waylon you obsessed psycho. Now shut the fuck up and let him talk!” Lisa had never shown herself so angry in front of Waylon, but her intention to shield him from Sarah’s accusations was palpable.

Waylon tensed and became more a spectator than participator at his own verbal assault, and the protection from it that came from Lisa. His head pounded by now, but eventually, while Lisa and Sarah argued, he picked up on something.

“Wait, wait,” Waylon grasped Sarah’s shoulder, eyes wide. “What do you mean by that? You mean...he literally looks like shit? What did you see?” Fuck what she saw. Waylon needed to find him now. “Where is he? You’re the only one that would know where he might be at this hour, Sarah. Please. I swear I didn’t do anything to him. We kissed. I kissed him. He kissed back, and when he left, that was the last time I saw him. You know I wouldn’t hurt him, I…”

He didn’t finish the thought, instead stared desperately at the girl who had been ready to pummel him.

Sarah glared at him still, she was not so forgiving about the whole kissing debacle. Not when Waylon had come in and just swept Eddie out of her sight like that. It was a selfish view, certainly, and it involved little of Eddie’s actual preference, but it still felt justified that she should at least have a first shot at kissing the guy.

Not now though. It mattered little in the face of Eddie’s black eye and the horrible cuts and bruises on his face.

“He’s...round the back of the cafeteria. Working, as usual, before you became his lunch pimp.”

“Sarah, you’re being a bitch. Waylon didn’t do anything wrong.” Lisa growled and her friend at last backed off a little, huffing her defiance. Lisa turned back to Waylon.

“Go see him. Talk and..whatever you need to do. I’ll make up a reason why you’re late.”

Waylon accepted Sarah’s anger, misguided or not. In all fairness, he’d have felt the same in her position. True to her genuine affection for Eddie though, she told him what he needed to know and he gave her a light squeeze in thanks.

To Lisa, he paused before saying, “Thanks, Lisa. I...appreciate it. More than you know.”

It was the first smile he flashed all day, but for her, he could.

Keeping her kindness close to his heart, he rushed to the cafeteria. Well, power-walked was a better term since they didn’t allow running on campus. By not the cafeteria had thinned, and he had to rely on rule-breaking to sneak past when the lady behind the counter wasn’t looking.

Finding Eddie wasn’t a task after that, but when he did spot Eddie from afar, his heart sank, feeling as cold as ice.

“Eddie…”

Eddie did various jobs in the kitchen, from scrubbing counters to washing dishes and taking out trash. He was grateful he only had to wash dishes today, at least no one could stare at him for the thirty minutes of peace. It was bad enough to sit in his classes with his face like that, the ugly, angry purple and black of his skin interrupted by cuts and gashes. He tried his best to place the band-aids sparingly, but they did absolutely nothing to hide the right side of his face. The left was relatively unmarked save for a single scrape on his cheek.

He jumped a little when he heard Waylon’s voice. His heart was somewhere on the floor before it leapt back up into his chest. No. He’d been relieved when Waylon hadn’t shown up to class today. He couldn’t do this now, not like this.

But he couldn’t ignore him either. With his hands in the warm, soapy water, Eddie turned slightly to look at Waylon.

“You’re...not allowed back here.”

Waylon didn’t hear him over the way Eddie’s face screamed at him. He forced himself to take in every scrape and bruise, even so much as to take a few shaky steps forward to better see the agony riddling Eddie’s face.

This wasn’t a brawl. This was sadism, and someone had wanted to teach Eddie a lesson.

“Oh, God, Eddie,” he whispered.

And maybe it was the stupid bug in him, or the way he shoved down past triumphs over stupid crying, but tears were leaking out of him as if it was his own damn face having been hit. No, worse, it was Eddie and that hurt him more than anyone could hurt him.

“How can anyone hurt you like that, Eddie…”

The shiver that ran through Eddie was almost visible, and the broad young man clutched the sponge in his hand harder.

“What? No, I...had an accident.” A well practiced lie. It came to him so smoothly now, it should disgust him. But Eddie felt cold indifference as he always did when his father decided that he needed to be disciplined. For a week, he’d be numb. Then, the bruises would be yellow at best, the cuts healed, and Eddie’s torn mind mended enough to keep him going. It was a protective sort of numbness, if such a thing existed.

“You know my house is pretty old, stuff happens all the time.”

Waylon rushed forward, dropping his bag, emotions getting the best of him. He couldn’t even pretend he had it in him to stop himself from wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist, pressing his face into Eddie’s chest, not that it did much to muffle the crack in his voice.

“Jesus, fuck, Eddie.” So much made more sense. Miles had been right all along again. Eddie wasn’t a bully, he was the victim of it, and the way Eddie had covered it up (poorly) planted a dark seed of truth Waylon wished wasn’t real.

“I’m so sorry I never knew sooner,” he said, his arms firm but by no means strong enough to make a dent on Eddie. “All this time someone’s been hurting you bad, and I never saw it…”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” Eddie pried Waylon off of him, and although some part in him cried out that Waylon belonged right there, pressed close and full of sympathy, most of him revolted at the fact that his friend now pitied him and suspected the truth of the matter.

No. It was better to crack their friendship than have Waylon find out the truth. No one could know, no one should know. Eddie knew that better than anyone.

“I don’t know what you think is going on but its not!” Eddie gave Waylon a shove, not considering how slight the younger male was built. When Waylon’s back crashed into a shelf filled with pots, the clattering noise had Eddie pause. His eyes widened in shock when he realized he might have hurt Waylon. His precious friend Waylon, who had tears of sympathy in his eyes.

“S...sorry, I didn’t mean to shove you that hard.”

It was pathetic how hard Waylon’s back met the shelf, and sadder that he couldn’t even hold it against Eddie. Given his already unsteady feet, Waylon had that coming to an extent. Still, he straightened, and approached, but clasped his hands into fists to prevent from touching Eddie again.

“Eddie,” he said, quieter, “I...don’t know what’s going on, exactly. But I know someone’s hurting you. I know it. You can’t lie about it, make me pretend that’s not true. Please, Eddie, don’t...don’t shut me out because of this. This...doesn’t change what I said.”

He swallowed down a ramble and forced his words steady. “I’m falling for you, Eddie, and I don’t want you to be alone in any of this, not anymore.”

It was too much, and at the wrong time. Waylon couldn’t have picked a more awful state for Eddie to be in for this confession. Eddie felt his breath hitch, and he coughed to clear his throat, finding it too dry and yet stuck closed. How the hell was he supposed to deal with this on top of everything else? Okay, everything else in his life was kind of awful and Waylon was the opposite of that, but therein lay his problem. Eddie knew how to deal with awful. He was used to it.

But this?

Waylon didn’t belong in his world. Waylon was sweet and kind and deserved someone as wonderful and smart as...as Lisa, for example.

He didn’t deserve to have anything to do with Eddie Gluskin’s life, and Eddie didn’t want him besmirched by the filth of his problems.

So he shook his head, denied what Waylon said with such a heartfelt tone.

“No...no, Waylon. You can’t do that. It’s not...it’s not right. You’re...you. And a guy. And it’s not right. We can’t be friends like this.”

“What are you saying?” Waylon’s muscle went slack, shock frying all the tension in him in a heartbeat. A hard, painful heartbeat. “Eddie, you’re not alone. I’m a guy, and that doesn’t matter. That doesn’t change that I-”

“Hey!”

Waylon startled. Behind him, the cafeteria lady held his bag, and perfected a glower his way. She looked between them for a moment, then sighed. As she threw Waylon his bag, she said, “Come on, kid. Get the hell out of here before someone sees ya.”

Waylon dumbly caught his bag, clutched it. “But Ed--”

“Gluskin’s working for me right now. Come on. Bell already rang,” she said, jerking her thumb. She didn’t sound mad.

What was there to do? A helpless glance over at Eddie as he trundled toward the kitchen exit. Eddie didn’t make a move for him.

This time, it was Waylon that had to go.

He composed himself as much as possible down the hall, which had been cleared of students thanks to the bell he’d overlooked. Great. A tardy mark. Waylon wondered if he looked as crappy as he felt and would get by. Maybe he should go to the nurse.

“Easy, Park.”

Waylon tripped on cue. A strong grip spared him a meet and greet with the deceivingly reflective floor of the hallway. He scowled down at the empty water bottle that barely caved in with his weight yet had almost made him fall.

He looked up at the hold, and tensed.

One of Blaire’s buddies, a tall student who looked too gruff in the face to be Blaire’s buddy in fine clothing. Waylon remembered him from the first lunch meeting, but didn’t pick up on his name. Not that he wanted to find out.

“Thanks,” he said, tugging his arm free.

“You okay?”

Waylon wanted him to walk away. “Yeah. Fine. I have to get to class.”

“Hey, hold up.” An arm blocked his path. “Jesus, you don’t have to hate me. You look like shit.”

Waylon exhaled hard, met his eyes. “Look, I--”

“I know, I know. You don’t think highly of me, I’m sure. We never got to chat though.”

“Now’s not really the best time. Just say whatever Bl-er, Jeremy wants you to say and let me go.”

The guy smiled, nothing like Blaire’s. “You’re cute. There. For the record, that’s my opinion but I’m sure he thinks so too.”

Waylon blinked.

“Sorry?” he said.

A soft laugh. “You must be sick as you look. I’m saying, you’re cute, and wanted to say hi.” He shrugged one shoulder. “That’s all. I hope we can be friends.”

Waylon narrowed an eye at him and backed up.

“Okay.”

“Think over it,” the student said, pulling out a conveniently stored scrap of paper from his pocket. He tugged a pen from his bag and scribbled. “Looks like you could use a good time.”

He held out the paper between two long fingers.

“Oh.” Waylon looked hard at it, as if it might contain poison. “I, uh--”

“I don’t take no for an answer.” The paper pushed itself into Waylon’s palm.

“Fuck, are you serious? Take it as an answer. You’re Blaire’s friend. Why would I go out with you?” Waylon’s shoulders bunched up when said friend of Blaire invaded his space.

“Because,” he said, touching Waylon’s chin lightly, “Gluskin’s off the table.”

Without further preamble, Waylon was left in the hallway, gone rigid by the reality of Blaire’s goons tailing him. How did they know about him and Eddie? Was it a threat? What the fuck was he in that Blaire needed him to be watched?

Waylon looked around, saw no one spying.

He looked at the paper in his hand.

He crushed it.

He failed to build up the nerve to throw it in the trash.


	12. Did My Time

High hopes crashed the hardest and burned the fiercest. Waylon felt the wreckage of it rotting in his stomach, making the food taste different, made his head ache even worse. Knowing Eddie suffered, never mind the details, left Waylon feeling more helpless than he did when Blaire called upon him.

Eddie avoided him. Waylon left him lunches, and notes asking to talk. The lunches might have been eaten, but the notes never responded to. In science, Eddie made it clear without speaking he didn’t want Waylon’s company. He seemed fixated that Waylon didn’t belong in the world he lived in, some dark husk of one where Eddie had learned to survive.

Waylon wanted to tell him if they could just talk, he could help, even if it was just by being there. It felt such a waste to have gotten as far as they had, only to be where they were now. Waylon accepted he deserved it for risking the kiss, and yet it had felt so worth it. Even with the darkness that came with it.

He hated how pathetic he felt. He wasn’t sleeping normally and yet managed to pull off impeccable work. It took a toll on him, but it didn’t compare to what toll Eddie took daily. Waylon wanted to know, wanted to just talk.

Miles didn’t know how to handle him in this state, distracted, tired, half-dozing. Waylon gave him credit for effort, but he rather just hand Miles the USB each morning and let him go off on his theories.

But he wanted to talk. 

At lunch, he was usually with Blaire, working on more shit. If nothing else, it gave Waylon purpose, trying to pick up on what he was doing. He saw the Murkoff name pop up more frequently, and he thought there were medical files underneath it all, but he didn’t try prying in Blaire’s sight.

That didn’t stop him from having a bad feeling about it, which aggravated his already shitty feeling.

Lisa, of all people, returned a piece of his hope, untarnished, still beating.

She must have heard from Miles about his stupor and noticed his lack of interaction and overall avoidance of lunch with them. Because one day after school, she smiled at him and held up a bag from a local fast food joint. Waylon didn’t know when she got it, but knew it had treats he liked from the place.

So they found a place to sit at the lake after a short walk. There, Waylon picked at his food, and spilled it all to her. She listened, of course she did. She didn’t judge him for his interests going toward Eddie, and he at least had to offer her a small confession in regards to his feelings for her.

He told her about how stupid he felt around his parents now, who knew something was wrong but struggled with finding out without further traumatizing him. These were delicate years after all. She knew about Blaire (Sarah hadn’t just told Miles), but he didn’t delve into how deep the asshole practically owned Waylon already. Not today.

Nor did he tell her about the new pal of his that was...courting him. The weirdo left shit in his locker like a single flower and other trinkets. It had to be an insult. This was stuff Waylon didn’t want, stuff better suited to offer a girl, right? Maybe that was the point. Fuck, he didn’t know anymore.

All he knew was he lost the nerve to fight back and texted Blaire’s friend. William, was his name, but he recalled Blaire referring to him as ‘Billy’. He lacked any and all skills to determine if Billy was just fucking with him. He didn’t know which would be worse though, but knew they were watching Eddie as much as watching him, and that meant lurking trouble.

So no wonder it felt better to tell Lisa everything (save for that), from the facts to how muddled he felt, how useless he was to Eddie. He’d never had someone dealing with something...like that, and was worried he’d be more useless if he found out the truth of it all.

When he was spent talking, and felt like he needed to wipe his eyes, she leaned against him.

Waylon leaned back. He guessed growing up with so much affection manifested in him as well. he liked soaking in her comfort, the way she rubbed his arm or patted his hand. She was supporting him, and it did seem a shame his heart didn’t do the same thing it did when it was around Eddie.

Still, she had a place of her own in it, and she talked too, and Waylon listened. They talked a lot, and did on the way back, and texted a lot after, and even had a few IM chats and phone conversations. 

It made him endure and, gradually, made him feel stronger. As per her advice, he decided to bring up the topic with Sarah. By now, her anger might have softened, and her intel might prove helpful with how to proceed with Eddie. After days of Eddie eluding him, Waylon knew that he didn’t want to give up on Eddie. That had also been Lisa’s advice, to evaluate his emotions over the course of the next few days, untangle what he could, label what could be labeled.

He was surprised by the outcome even though he’d seen it coming. He was still falling hard for Eddie. He tried to pinpoint why. At first he thought it was a convenience of circumstances, both of them being at the other side of a bully’s rage. Then, he considered Eddie’s looks or the way he sang, or his secret talents.

In the end, it wasn’t any of that. Those things might have been the impetus to talk to Eddie, but it hadn’t been what made Waylon feel so good around him.

Sarah would have to wait though.

Among that drama (love life drama?), Waylon couldn’t forget about Blaire as much as he wanted to. As per the agreement, Waylon informed Miles of the small party he would attend. However, Miles was not allowed this time, no matter how much he whined.

“I’m already doing enough shit for you,” he hissed in the fabricated privacy their opened lockers granted them. He grunted as he jerked out another flower, this time a lily. “For God’s sake. This is like the fifth one he’s sent me. And you’re the only one who knows so, please, keep it to yourself.”

He sighed and tossed the flower back into the locker, rubbing his face. “I think I’m going to go crazy. I’m trying to deal with this Eddie stuff, help you, all while,” he lowered his tone, “fucking Blaire watching me and...now this Hope guy? Jesus, Miles!”

He shoved his friend’s camera aside. “Stop taking pictures of the shit he sends me. It’s weirding me out. It’s not evidence for anything. Maybe he’s just...I don’t know. Whatever. Look, you’re making me forget what I was telling you. Oh, here.”

He snuck a small chip into Miles’ open locker. “Gonna try to activate that when I’m at his place, but you’ll have to be connected to a laptop too. So you can see what I see in real time, but only for like five minutes or else someone else might catch on.”

And given how Blaire seemed to want to tail him, he wouldn’t put it past the creep to have back up ‘hackers’. Shit. Hopefully none as good as Waylon. Probably not, or why else bother with the eighth Park of the school?

Miles took the chip with gratitude. Honestly, he was surprised Waylon still functioned at all. He seemed permanently haunted, and from what Sarah and Lisa let on (not much) it had Gluskin at the heart of it all. Miles could make a vague guess that something in their relationship had not gone to Waylon’s plan, but that was pretty much it.

Miles had to confess it was increasingly difficult to like Eddie Gluskin whatsoever. Especially when he made a good friend miserable like this.

“Okay...if it’s that short, make sure you get me the most important part. Maybe Blaire’s villain speech.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Waylon said, not committed when so much else had him drowning. He understood how people got heart attacks from stress now.

He shut his locker, leaving the flower to wilt. Sagging against the metal, he looked around to be sure no one was purposely eavesdropping.

“How do you plan to do something if you find...whatever it is you’re looking for? I have a feeling Blaire has connections to keep him out of legal trouble.”

“You think he’s thought that far ahead?” Miles sounded doubtful as he examined his beloved camcorder. This thing went everywhere with him and he honestly spent more time with it than any actual human being.

“It doesn’t matter. If he’s doing bad shit and helping someone come to harm, I’ll take him down. My dad’s a cop. He can help if its real. But I need evidence.”

Waylon scrubbed his forehead. It did nothing to alleviate the tension growing there like it had made a cozy nest of his entire head. He sighed and pushed off the lockers.

“I hope so. If I can, I’ll try to text you about what happens tonight.”

As he started a step in one direction, he noticed Billy, then turned the other way. He grabbed Miles’ arm and hauled him along.

“Just humor me until I get to class,” he told Miles. “I’ll owe you one, okay? Not like you were doing anything else but fondling your camera. Should you be keeping that out in the open? And, wait,” his sluggish brain caught up, “your dad’s a cop? Why haven’t you told him all this to begin with?” 

Miles didn’t argue with the sudden touch, he was pretty blase about such things, but the question had him squirm.

“Look, it just makes it all the more important to have evidence. I know my dad won’t listen if I just tell him that I know Blaire is into some illegal shit. It doesn’t work like that. And being related to me, he doesn’t listen to me anyway.”

Miles shrugged as they passed by Billy Hope, who gave a rather odd stare in their direction. Weird. Blaire’s goons always were strange, but that was new.

“Actually....there’s something I wanted to tell you, but you’ve been so fucked up recently, I didn’t know when was good. Now’s good I think. Did you know...that Gluskin’s father was accused of child abuse? Of course you didn’t, happened before you got here. I caught my dad looking through some of his old files and it sprung out at me. That explains the bruises, for sure.”

When Billy looked their way, Waylon ducked his head against Miles’ shoulder, abusing his friend’s height to his advantage. He almost stopped cold when Miles kept talking and brought Eddie up. He knew Miles didn’t care for Eddie, less so now that he was weirdly involved in a relationship with Waylon he didn’t understand.

“What?”

Waylon used all his reserved vigor to shove Miles into the boys’ bathroom. Once there, he checked the stalls and then locked the door.

“His own fucking father?” he hissed, gripping Miles’ jacket. “Shit. I...figured it was something like that but...hearing it,” he felt dizzy suddenly and dropped his head on Miles’ chest to brace himself. “I can’t believe he still lives there. That asshole must be...hurting him still. Fuck and...it was my fault. I told Eddie to take a day off. That’s why he got beat up, isn’t it?”

Not that Miles would really know. 

He looked up, frowning.

“And I’m not fucked up. What else do you know? Wait. No. Don’t tell me. I...It has to come from Eddie.”

“What? Why? He’s not gonna tell you, Park. Do you wanna know why his father wasn’t convicted? Eddie testified in his favour. Even after getting private sessions with a psychiatrist and everything.” Miles knew that Waylon was deeply invested in this whole Gluskin debacle, but his fervent interest was pretty intense in person like this.

“My dad was the arresting officer when the call came in. He’s still convinced Gluskin’s father’s guilty, and I’m pretty sure those bruises should be proof of it. Yet no one is doing anything. You want to know who Gluskin’s mother works for? I’ll give you a clue. Starts with an M.”

Waylon wanted Miles to shut up about it, but the instant the information poured out, he was all ears. He lifted his head, soaked up everything Miles said even if it made him dizzier. Eddie had allowed his father to get off free? Something was not right, besides the obvious.

He swallowed hard, and knew instantly where Miles was going before the clue had been dropped.

“Murkoff.”

He stepped back, digesting that. The company had its greasy fingers in everything, didn’t it?

He looked up at Miles. “You probably just told me that so I’d help you out more with Blaire, didn’t you? Don’t...answer that. I rather not know the truth.”

He chewed on his inner cheek.

“Okay. I’ll...try to find out more tonight, but I don’t want to get involved.” Fuck, he already was, but pretended he wasn’t. “I don’t need him after me anymore than he is now.”

“I’d never lie to you, Park. Not about something so fucked up. This whole town is run by Murkoff.” Miles shook his head, he knew he had Waylon hook line and sinker as soon as he mentioned Eddie Gluskin. That crush was incredibly advanced for the short amount of time. But maybe Waylon had himself convinced that Gluskin was a victim who could be saved by him. Savior complex, or something of the sort, Miles suspected.

“I think he’s scouting you out for company use. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if you get a scholarship offer after high school. It’ll be sponsored by your pals at Murkoff.” Miles sighed and fondled for his phone.

“Sorry about your...tiff with Gluskin though. You look really rough for it, and so does he.”

Waylon smiled a bit, cheered up with the few words Miles offered him. He wasn’t the type to apologize, that much Waylon knew, and that alone made it worth the day’s troubles. Well, troubles so far.

“Thanks. I’m not sure what I’ll do...I’m going to talk to Sarah tomorrow. One issue at a time,” he sighed. “Blaire tonight. Just...one more favor?”

He hated to ask, but he would hate it more if he didn’t try.

“If you hear anything else about Eddie, from your dad’s work or anything, let me know.”

“Yeah, I will. For once, I can actually say that. My dad’s shit at keeping his temper, and child abuse, well, that gets him to boiling point in about half a second.” Miles clapped Waylon on the shoulder, happy to have their easy-going connection restored. 

“We’ll keep an eye on your future boyfriend, okay Park? And maybe this time...one of us can get him to give up on trying to defend his fucked up dad. You never know. Maybe it’s even you.”

Waylon clipped him back, not as hard, but he could work on that. Now would be the perfect time for a nap, but he relied on Miles’ words to give him the strength to endure what was to come.

“He might not be my boyfriend, you know.” He did like the idea though. “And...thanks. I don’t know if I can help him much. It sounds like he needs real help, but maybe I can be the one with him through it all. Boyfriend or not.”

He went to the bathroom door and unlocked it.

He hesitated again before leaving.

“Miles, if...for whatever reason, I start getting real fucked up, can you be the one to punch some sense back into me? Can’t have both of us being crazy.”

“Oh hell yeah, I’ll slap the common sense right back in your crazy face. You’re a good guy and friend, Park. Wouldn’t want to lose you to some assholes.”

Miles didn’t even take the crazy comment as an offense.


	13. Tanz mit Mir

Without Miles and his posse (as he dubbed it), Waylon felt as exposed as anyone would riding up to the home, of colossal proportions, of the person who had a goal to procure your loyalty. By force if necessary.

His parents had look relieved to hear he was going to another party, and he lied by telling them Miles and the group would tag along like before. He got picked up a block away by a car so expensive he worried his shoes would leave imprints he couldn’t afford to pay to wash out.

That issue became moot when he recognized who sat beside him. The driver rolled the car away, and it was too late to consider leaping out.

“Hey, Park,” Billy said.

Waylon’s lip twitch was more a grimace than a smile.

“Hey…”

Billy didn’t stop looking at him. Pressed against his corner, Waylon scanned the town streaming by, eyes flicking back to see if Billy would leave him alone.

The taller student scooted closer.

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

Oh, God. Waylon looked out the window, pretending to be very, very distracted by the scenery leading up to Blaire’s mansion.

“You got my gifts, I see.”

Waylon inhaled deeply.

“I liked you the moment I saw you, Park. Just my type.”

A hand landed on his thigh. Waylon hopped off his seat a few inches and scrambled deeper into his side. “Don’t touch me. We’re not a couple, Billy.”

Billy didn’t look the least offended. Worrisome, to say the least.

“Not yet, no.”

“Yet?”

“You don’t realize how much you got to offer a guy like me, huh?”

“Jesus, Billy, I’m not...into you like that, okay? I appreciate the gesture but--”

The hand clamped down on his thigh again. Fear skyrocketed through Waylon, but Billy was already caging him in, analyzing him with eyes too hazy for Waylon’s liking.

“I’d make you crazy with pleasure, Park.”

Fuck.

Waylon didn’t pick up on the pun he’d thought of. The word trilled as a warning, and he squirmed back as much as he could. Billy was big, and he was outmatched. A quick glance around a broad shoulder told him the driver had no plans to spare him of his plight.

“That sounds...nice, but really, Billy--”

“Is it Gluskin?” Billy’s voice was hard now. “I see how you look at him. I knew it. Blaire was right-”

“No! It’s not him. It’s not.”

“Then?”

“God, Billy, I’m just not interested, okay? It’s not...personal. I’m going through a lot right now.”

Billy considered that, then sat back with a sigh.

“Too bad.”

Waylon wiped his long sleeve, ridding it of Billy’s scent.

“I was hoping you’d do it willingly,” Billy said, forlorn and looking out the window now.

“What do you mean?”

Billy shrugged a shoulder, then smiled his way. Sadly, almost. He said nothing though, and Waylon resigned himself to the blissful (not) silence as the car finally reached its destination. Where the mansion had pumped with lights and the thrum of music, it towered silently now. Not peacefully, but with the air of an omen, a symbol for the wolf in sheep’s clothing its masters were.

Waylon didn’t want to get out of the car.

The driver, an aged man who looked like he was seeing nothing but the tasks at hand opened his door. Waylon couldn’t even talk to him; the man instantly returned to his seat and drove off, leaving Billy to guide him in. Waylon utilized that term very loosely, given the hand at his low back.

Inside, Blaire lounged in some sort of sitting room, which was peppered with familiar lackeys, including the twins. Everyone looked up when he came in.

Waylon looked around, saw no one else, heard no music, saw no drinks out.

He looked back and found Billy blocking the entrance to the room.

“Park, welcome at last.” Blaire didn’t deign him worthy enough to stand from his spot. “We were just talking about you and all the work you’ve done.”

Waylon fisted his hands.

“Care for a drink? You look tense.”

“Is this really a party?”

“Depends who you ask,” Blaire said, that damn smile played out to look lazy. “I have work for you to do, as promised, but before that, a small...celebration.”

Waylon wanted to see the others’ expressions for an indication of what was to come, but it seemed unwise to look anywhere but Blaire.

“Okay,” was all he could say.

“But,” Blaire held up a finger, waved it back and forth slowly, “Billy here tells me you’ve been...chattier with Miles lately.”

“He’s my friend.”

Blaire nodded as if sympathizing with that sentiment. “You see, I want to believe that. But you see, Miles has this...way of getting under your skin, of being the perpetual pain in the ass and assumed sun of your life, to an extent, all at once. I worry what he’s been telling you.”

Waylon felt the air shift. The others were positioning themselves, further boxing him in. It felt harder to breathe. His lungs almost burned.

Blaire got up too, crossing the distance in a few long strides. He looked as polished as his mates. You could doll up shit all you want, it didn’t change what it was. Waylon kept that tidbit to himself and tried not to shrink back. Thinking of Eddie kept his back straight.

Then, Blaire broke in his sharp smile.

“Ah, don’t look like that. Come on. We’ve got work for you to do.”

Waylon blinked as the others abandoned their posts, letting the air filter in better again. Blaire steered him to a neighboring room, which looked almost identical save for the desktop waiting for him. Nice one. Not one Waylon had fiddled with yet.

He didn’t ask about the celebration or Blaire’s suspicions. It was probably a way to throw him off guard, and the party a joke.

So Waylon was fine with setting up work, being sure to activate the ‘gift’ for Miles, allowing him to see what he did, access what he did for a moment. It was difficult work, masking Miles’ involvement, but Blaire saw genius in him for a reason.

At the same time, Waylon searched for more Murkoff files, careful where Blaire was in the room as he did so. He pulled a few files, saved them, hid them, did what he could until his heart was pounding too hard.

When he was done, he slipped his pieces back in his pocket, then looked at Blaire.

His goons were coming in now.

“Good man,” Blaire said, reaching out to rustle his hair with a hand. “You’ve been very good, Park. So you understand why I need you to do another thing for me.”

Waylon ducked out of the way, not liking the way Blaire had tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. “What?”

“Billy’s very fond of you. It’d be great if you could...you know, humor him.”

Waylon’s jaw almost fell loose. “Are...you asking me to let Billy...take me out?”

Blaire smiled.

“You want him to follow me everywhere. I thought you already did that.”

“You can always get closer, know more,” Blaire said. “Billy happily volunteered. Maybe it’s a match made in heaven. You haven’t given him a chance.”

“No.”

It came out swiftly and hard. Waylon almost regretted how good it felt; Blaire’s smile faded. Lines creased around his eyes gradually, the expression enough to make Waylon’s heart speed up again.

“See, this is what I was telling you all,” Blaire said to his pals, and this time his voice dripped cold. “I worry about his loyalties. I value loyalty above all else.”

You value obedience, Waylon thought, grateful he caught himself in time before spitting it out.

Blaire’s wrath didn’t leave Waylon, and it was doing a fine job of trapping him in his seat.

“You should know your place with me, Park.”

His hand snapped forward, snatching a handful of hair easy to abuse. Waylon crashed to his knees at the pain, and cried out as he was yanked forward, almost colliding with Blaire’s legs in the process.

The pain wouldn’t relent. Blaire held tighter and used his free hand to backhand him. It felt like a fucking punch, and left spots coloring Waylon’s vision. He couldn’t even jerk his head with the blow, the hold on him forcing him to endure it.

“Whatever little ideas are growing in you, we’re going to get those out, okay? It’d be bad for Gluskin, or maybe that Lisa’s family. You don’t know what I can do, Park, no idea,” Blaire said, practically cooing as he stroked Waylon’s hair now. He then grasped Waylon’s neck by the back and shoved.

Waylon paled, and when he tried to bolt, one of the twins ensnared him in a grip that had him biting his tongue to stop crying out. Too quickly, too shamefully, he was on his knees again in front of Blaire.

Smiling still, only this time with that look Waylon had seen before, the one that had left him with the most chills.

“Let’s see you prove how loyal you are to me, Waylon.”

**-x-**

Waylon stared down at his phone, looking at Miles’ number for what had to be the eleventh minute going on. His arms and face, jaw especially, still ached where he’d gotten the worst of tonight’s ‘festivities’.

Blaire’s driver had dropped him off a few miles off about half hour ago, not that Waylon cared. Strange how he’d felt a little numb more than anything else. His mind wouldn’t let him process why it had done that. That was for a later time.

He had enough in him to know he couldn’t very sit there on the bench by the burger joint all night.

With more effort than it should have taken, he sent Miles a text.

Can you pick me up pls  
@ Burger Land

Not ten minutes later, Miles’ car pulled up with screeching tires. Clearly, the guy had been waiting on tenterhooks for a sign of life or trouble from Waylon. Miles left the engine running and opened the door, stepping out to look at Waylon sitting like a lost child on the bench.

“Hey...man. You don’t look like you were at a party.” his tone was more careful than usual, and he jabbed his thumb in direction of the car, “you want me to take you home, or do you want to get some food and aimlessly drive around and you tell me what happened?”

Waylon did want to go home. He craved a shower, some mouthwash, and his bed where he could curl up and wait for the sun to die out.

Somehow there was a part of him that convinced him to resist the urge. He got up and hurried into the safety of Miles’ car. For now he could pretend it was a bubble that Blaire couldn’t reach.

“Take me anywhere,” he said, sinking into the passenger’s seat, looking out the window, but not really seeing anything. “Outside the city.”

“Park?” Miles tried not to feel awkward in his own comfort zone and car, but it was difficult with someone so clearly in need of venting a horrendous experience.

He obediently put his jeep, which had seen better days and a candy apple paintjob at some point, into motion. Leaving the city wasn’t difficult, Leadville was cushioned by the Rockies and surrounded by beautiful countryside. Civilization sort of stopped, as did the road and the jeep’s tires hit a dirt path. Miles didn’t stop though, just kept going until they were in the wilderness.

Perhaps Waylon would want to talk of the monstrous nature of humans here.

Waylon kept quiet as the jeep took him away from the hell hole. It must have been nice at some point, or maybe Murkoff had developed the town themselves, planted the seed of a hell hole for it to spawn others.

No, he was just being paranoid now.

He pressed a hand to his forehead hard, and exhaled when the jeep came to a stop. Miles was waiting for him to talk, but he didn’t have it in him to tell him everything.

“Blaire hates you so much he wants to fuck you,” he said.

“Well. That’s not new.” Miles seemed rather chilled about that fact, more concerned with what Waylon experienced than what Blaire thought of him. Besides, he and Jeremy had history that Waylon was completely unaware of.

“What did he do?”

“Nothing,” Waylon snapped, then upon hearing how that came out, calmed his voice.

He opened the window and took in the fresh air, greedy for it.

“Nothing. It wasn’t a party, just more work.” He fished out the chip he’d used and handed it over. “Stuff I managed to download that you couldn’t see. Be careful.” Then, after considering if he should say it, but realizing he’d have to to explain the upcoming scenarios, he added, “Billy and I are going out now.”

“What?!” Miles let the chip slide into one of his pockets, carefully patting it to know it was not to be lost. Whatever was on there might help build a case, after all.

But this new information was disturbing, as hell.

“Why? You don’t even like Hope, I don’t...Oh my god. He’s pimping you out.”

Waylon shrugged a shoulder, looking at the peaks of the trees. Part of him ached to roam around, but that meant leaving the sanctity of Miles’ jeep and the protection it provided him.

“He wants to keep close tabs on me.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Billy is...I don’t know. I think there’s something wrong with him. Like he’s not really...here in reality.”

He sighed again and shut his eyes. “Whatever. If...anything turns up with him, I’ll try to find a way to tell you. He can’t follow me everywhere after all.”

“Park...” Miles sounded as uncomfortable as he looked. Waylon already seemed in too far, too deep in water that was pulling him under. Blaire was dangerous, no doubt, simply because he had this crazy way of getting under anyone and everyone’s skin. But to let Waylon paddle up this shit creek any longer was cruelty. Miles hoped to hell and god and whatever there might be that there was useful, conclusive evidence in the files Waylon just gave him.

“If..I find anything on this thing...this has to stop. Shit, I didn’t realize just how far he was reeling you in.”

“It’s fine,” Waylon lied, keeping his eyes shut. They opened swiftly when he saw Blaire flash in his mind.

“It’s...I don’t care what happens to me much,” he said. “Blaire’s got fingers in everything, and I don’t want more trouble for Eddie, or even Lisa. I’ll just do as he says and maybe you’ll take him down. If not, I’ll be gone in a couple years and can forget it all.”

He couldn’t. He could never forget Eddie, or leave him, or even Miles.

“It’s not fine, you idiot,” Miles snapped, eyes blazing as he looked over at Waylon. The defeated slump in those shoulders alone brought rage into Miles Upshur, who would go down fighting or not at all. Preferably the latter.

“Blaire’s family might have their fingers in everyone’s pie, but he sure as hell can’t treat you like his slave. Seriously, Park. Enough is enough. You’re not fucking going out with Hope. And I’m sure Lisa would say the same thing, plus that she would kill Blaire’s ass dead if he tried any shit on her.”

Waylon scoffed, the mirth gone from the sound. Of course Lisa was terrifying to Blaire, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do something to her family without her knowing. It wasn’t worth the risk. He couldn’t ruin her life, he couldn’t traumatize Eddie’s anymore.

Miles’ speech came from a raw place and Waylon reacted to it with his own anger.

“Yes, he can, Miles! From day one, he’s been...fucking around with me, and, and...he knows I care about Eddie and can fuck him over so easily, and it’s not fair, but that’s how it fucking is, okay? I just want to do whatever he wants so I can get out of here faster.”

He couldn’t even switch schools, move anywhere. There felt like no solution, beyond the hope of Miles’ erratic ideal of taking Blaire down and whatever he was involved in.

“You don’t get it,” he said, voice breaking. He had to cover his eyes with his hand. He was not equipped to handle any trauma his way. Maybe he should have just gone home.

He almost couldn’t hear himself whisper, “He had me on my fucking knees...and I did it. Twice...”

Too far...this had gone too far. And Miles had let it happen. The guilt crushed his usually so carefree spirit, and Waylon’s gloom and confession wasn’t making it any better. He had to do something, today, to make this stop.

“Waylon,” the first time he used his friend’s actual name, “...you did what?”

He would take this poor boy home, and he might as well tell Waylon’s parents enough of a snippet to help them understand why their son needed to stay home for a while and recover. He bet his bottom dollar that Waylon hadn’t told them about his fight with Eddie either.

Waylon scrubbed his eyes, then let his arm fall dead into his lap. He exhaled hard and looked out the front of the windshield. He could feel the guilt as much as he felt the ache on his busted lip. He must look a wreck.

Gritting his teeth, he forced out, “He. Put. His. Cock. In. My. Mouth.”

It was a good thing he lacked upper body strength, so the punch he let out on the glove compartment did nothing. It made his hand hurt though, and he liked the pain.

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing it. “I...It’s my fault. Blaire’s right. I’m not the kind to do anything. I’m a fucking coward, Miles. I’m not like you. I wish I was.”

“That nasty son of a fucking bitch,” Miles cursed, indulging in a hard slap on the steering wheel of his poor jeep. Jeremy was spiralling out of control, and it was insane how no one seemed to care.

“We’re gonna take him down, okay Waylon? I’ll think of something. And we have to warn Lisa. And Gluskin. You’re not gonna be his fucking plaything, Waylon. No fucking way.”

Not to mention the fact that what Blaire had done was sexual assault and that was definitely illegal.

Waylon knew that, but for Eddie’s sake, it was a trauma worth enduring, even if he lacked everything to deal with its ultimate repercussions. Eddie suffered far worse than he did, and ironically it gave him the courage to not collapse into the feelings and bad thoughts plaguing him.

For now, he nodded, unsure what else to do or say.

“I...w-want to talk to Sarah. I told her I was going to meet her later to talk about Eddie. I, uh,” he trailed off, forced his quivering hands still on his legs. “You can...drop me off th...there. Okay?”

“Buddy, I’m taking you straight home. And you’re gonna stay there, without freaking your parents out.” Miles wasn’t to be argued with, especially not when he was the one driving.


	14. Pretty little Psycho

Waylon couldn’t protest with Miles, but he tried. Going home felt like the wrong thing to do, when Eddie still had bruises and their last conversation hung in the air. Miles had none of it and even helped him to the door when Waylon got woozy from the adrenaline rush draining right out of him.

His parents fussed over his condition, but Miles, charming Miles, convinced them he’d explain it to them once he got Waylon settled in. It wasn’t the ideal way of meeting the rumored Miles Upshur, but it was all they had been granted.

Waylon didn’t remember being ushered to the shower, and didn’t remember who it was that helped him change and tuck into bed. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out.

When he awoke the next morning, his parents were still in a fuss, though gentler than when he’d come home. Apparently Miles bent the truth, explaining the fight he had with Eddie, a bug going around, and an awkward situation with another boy at school that resulted in the punch to his lip.

He rode with it, a little too out of it to dig up more details on the matter.

He was to stay home all weekend, and even take Monday off.

They wouldn’t humor his protests.

So Waylon found his Saturday thinking about the drama of his life, looking at texts from Lisa and Miles, and Billy. He ignore the latter and replied to the former two. Then, he texted Sarah after a brief internal debate.

**Hey. Eddie okay? Can we talk?**   
**I’m stuck home but you can come**   
**or we can talk on phone?**

**What is this, the 90’s? You want me to use my phone as a phone?**   
**Your folks gonna freak if I show up and smoke pot?**

Waylon almost smiled at that.

**I’ll keep the window open. You can smoke.**

So he cracked opened the window and his mom brought up light snacks for when his friend showed up. He could tell she wanted to ask about meeting two friends he’d yet to properly introduce and now popped up when her son wasn’t in a stable state.

She left it as is though, and Sarah must have passed inspection because she was coming into his room without issue not an hour later.

“Hey,” he said from his spot on the bed. He’d been cocooned to well to get up. “Did, uh...Miles tell you anything?”

“Nice to see you too, Park,” Sarah grumbled at him, kicking her jacket to a corner and claiming a large spot on the carpet. She let her gaze drift around the room, taking in every detail, committing it to memory, for what purpose yet unknown.

“What didn’t Miles tell me? You know he held like, a whole little meeting about you? It was kind of weird. And fucked up. And I want to punch Blaire in the fucking balls and make him choke on his own dick for breakfast.”

Waylon had smiled in apology for not properly greeting Sarah, but he never quite knew if it was nice to see her. He liked her and her presence was its own creation to just be called ‘nice’.

At the mentioning of Blaire’s dick, he shut his eyes. It steadied him. Having expected Miles to tell their small group about what had happened didn’t surprise it. It didn’t make the impact any less shameful.

“I got in too deep and, well,” he shakily exhaled and borrowed a little deeper in his haven. He didn’t want to bring up that Blaire had told him to expect more during their lunch-time visits.

“I didn’t want to talk about that though. I...wanted to say sorry for Eddie. I didn’t mean to like, steal him. It just...happened. And he looked so happy.” He let the memory calm him. “I don’t know what to do, Sarah. I think Eddie’s abuse goes deeper than I know. Miles said his own fucking father abused him and...and I’m...starting to think it’s not just...physical.”

Sarah just listened to him, didn’t accept any sort of apology about her stolen ‘treasure’. Instead, she rolled herself a thin joint, something that could only be mistaken for a cigarette if a person lacked a complete sense of smell.

She shook her head slowly as Waylon got right into the thick of it.

“I believe that. Eddie’s dad...he’s a horrible man. I’ve seen him, from afar. He’s pretty fucking scary, Waylon. And you know I’m not really afraid of people bigger than me. But that man? There’s no doubt. He’s done fucked up things to Eddie, and we both know how much he’s hurting.”

Waylon had been wishing his suspicions had been unfounded, warped by his recent incident with Blaire. Now, it overcame him the magnitude of Eddie’s hell. Years of it. How did he survive? Barely. Look at how he scraped by at school.

“I don’t know what the fuck to do though. I can’t just...overwhelm him with what I know.” Waylon squirmed free, suddenly feeling like he was in a coffin. He took deep breaths and stared at the ceiling. “I’ve never had friends much, and none that were...fuck, I feel sick.”

For Eddie’s sake he controlled his stomach. He looked over at Sarah. “What do you think I can do?”

“You think I know? God, Waylon, if I had any idea of how to help Eddie, don’t you think I would have done it by now?” Sarah blew small rings, and even smaller ones through those. Though the subject of Eddie was by no means trivial to her, she seemed to have already given it a lot of thought.

“The problem is Eddie is so...I don’t know, scared, traumatized, maybe even you know, indoctrinated, that he would never admit to anything like that. He just takes it all on, and bears with it. You know he has a little sister, right? She’s got MS, Waylon. Eddie just takes all of the shit from his dad and I think his mom only cares properly for the sister. Fuck, it makes me so angry. They treat him like shit, and he still tries. And no one fucking helps. I mean, he comes to school like that and not one of the damn teachers thinks anything of it. They all know about the case...shit, I hate that so much.”

Sarah felt like scorching Waylon’s carpet, but she was too well raised for that.

“What the hell CAN we do, Waylon? Eddie won’t talk to me. And you neither, anymore.”

Waylon felt heavier the more she talked. It was true, all of it, even about them being useless. Yet to abandon Eddie wasn’t an option, not when he’d already lost most his hope on Blaire leaving him alone. At the least, Eddie had to be shown he could still hope, that he was worth so much more than being treated like shit.

“I think I...have to show him.” Waylon didn’t want to, not this way. “I think I need to tell him what’s been going on with me and Blaire. He thinks I’m too...good or pure or some shit for the life he’s involved in, and that’s why he shuts me out. But maybe if he saw I’m not, I can get him to see the way we see him, someone worth sticking by.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Waylon,” Sarah would never lie to anyone, simply because she didn’t believe in inconveniencing herself with having to make shit up. People needed the truth, most of the time. Eddie though, he was a special case. Selective truth was the principle to be applied.

“The way I see it, and I am saying this as a completely objective third party observer...Eddie needed you to be like that. Pure. Good. Because he doesn’t fucking have anyone like that in his life. I don’t know if you should take that from him, Way. I really don’t. I know he still likes you, and he misses you. God, he looks so miserable...I’ve never wanted to hug and swaddle someone so badly, and you KNOW I’m the last person to get motherly on anyone. He misses you Waylon. If you tell him what you’ve been doing...that you’re associating with Blaire, still and like THAT. He might snap. You can’t do that to him.”

Waylon conceded, grateful for her wisdom. This had been precisely why she was the one to talk to in regards to Eddie. Though somehow he believed Eddie still saw him as pure even if he knew Blaire smacked him around. Still, he wouldn’t deprive Eddie of the idealism of Waylon Park.

Fuck, Eddie needed serious help before that could happen.

“Yeah...Yeah, you’re right.”

He then adjusted the pillows and blankets, allowing Sarah a more comfortable spot. When she finally complied and blew her rings out the window, Waylon settled back down. He watched her for a while, this stalker who had a greater heart than most people gave her credit for.

“Thanks, Sarah,” he said.

He didn’t feel so alone that day.

**-x-**

Going back to school didn’t feel so different than any other day, disregarding Billy’s advances. The guy wasn’t aggressive, and spoke ill of the way Blaire had treated his new ‘boyfriend’. He continued to shower Waylon with gifts, a sparkle in his eyes that never waned. Ever.

Waylon didn’t try to pretend to know what Billy’s mental state was. The guy wasn’t particularly...bright, as it was. Kind of sweet, if you overlooked the forced relationship part. Upon returning to school, Billy had snuck in a few more flowers and notes bearing his good vibes and affection.

At the least, Billy only stuck to his hip between classes and didn’t actually transfer himself into them or anything. Waylon counted that a blessing because he didn’t doubt Blaire could work that out if he really wanted to.

Something he had done, and Waylon had no proof, was change his science class. Supposedly he was too ‘advanced’ for it, and now didn’t see Miles or Eddie second period. He was put in a class with mostly seniors, given the upgrade as though he earned it.

Fucking Blaire had to be behind it.

That didn’t dampen Waylon’s spirits, probably because they were too damp to begin with. His parents wanted him to talk about what happened, and he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to talk about it to Miles, couldn’t handle the sympathy in Lisa’s eyes, and the slight hurt for him not telling her what had been done to him.

He’d have to talk to her again.

Now, he was focused on Eddie. Sarah’s conversation had fueled him, occupied his time Sunday and Monday. He’d almost snuck to school, but his mom wasn’t having it. He hated not knowing how Eddie was doing. What if he was hurting worse? Why didn’t any of the teachers give a fuck?

Murkoff. The more time Waylon had alone with his thoughts, the more he submitted Miles’ lunacy had a strong foundation in truth. A scary, twisted truth, the kind saved for movies because in real life it was too ghastly to imagine to be happening, and you helpless to stop it.

Of course, there was the issue of Billy. Come lunch time, he knew Miles and the others would come to his aid, aware of Billy’s antics (or rather, Blaire’s). It didn’t ease his stomach when Billy smiled brightly from his locker.

“I got us a nice spot outside today, for lunch. I thought you would like that better than sitting with Blaire.”

Waylon opened his locker and switched books.

“I really...have something to do, Billy.”

“But--”

“It’s important. I know Blaire wants you to follow me, but, damn it, Billy,” he didn’t even sound like he cared anymore. His voice had long since diluted to a soft tone since that night at Blaire’s place. “He’s...you know how he is. How can you be his friend?”

Billy stared hard, and it took Waylon a minute to understand the other student was contemplating his words with thorough accuracy. Well, accuracy for him.

“Well, he cleared my record,” Billy said honestly.

Waylon froze in place from shutting his locker.

“Record?”

“Well, yeah. He cleared it all up for me. Got me nice scholarship already for college and everything.”

Waylon paused. An opportunity laid open for him, packaged in the form of Billy Hope.

“Uh, Billy,” he said, shutting his locker. “Lunch sounds nice. Can I just...use the bathroom first? You know, alone? I can meet you at the spot, just tell me where it’s at. If I’m not there in fifteen you can come look for me.”

He’d emphasized his tone with as much timid interest as he could muster. It proved a task because he felt tired, even if Billy was smiling brighter, pleased that Waylon agreed willingly to something, for once.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll make it nice and ready for us.”

Relief gave Waylon the much needed respite he craved. Billy’s interest hadn’t sprouted from a bad seed from Blaire. Whatever reason, Billy liked him, and that trumped having to tag along with Waylon every moment. Waylon reserved that knowledge for later use.

Once Billy hurried off, Waylon ducked away, not wanting to waste the precious time he had waiting for Miles and company. Sarah had informed him on this day, Eddie should be in the cafeteria again. It was another matter of waiting to tuck in unseen, a couple of minutes shaved there but out of necessity.

There, he saw Eddie again, but he didn’t approach him, not yet.

“Hey,” he said, quietly, “Eddie. I…ah, I missed you.”

Eddie was indeed in the cafeteria, and even found at the right time. He didn’t turn for Waylon though, kept his head down as he once again scrubbed pots and pans.

“You can’t be here,” he whispered, and he didn’t sound terribly convinced of himself, “you have to go, Waylon Park.”

Waylon approached him now, came to the side of the sink, hands busy with the strap of his bag lest he grab Eddie and pull him into an embrace.

“I missed you,” he said again, watching Eddie scrub. He could go at it all day, it wouldn’t wipe clean the shit of his life. “And...I have a feeling you missed me too.”

“Why are you here?” Eddie almost moaned, sounding annoyed that they were doing this here, again. He thought he’d been clear last time that Waylon had to be gone from his life. And for a few days, he had. And Eddie was miserable.

“We can’t be friends. You like me too much. You’re...you’re moving on. With Billy Hope.”

Waylon moaned enough for both of them. “Billy is...a little infatuated with me. I’m not interested, Eddie, not with him. But that’s not what I came to talk about.”

He huffed. “So I did leave you alone for a while, and what good came of it, Eddie? You look worse. So what if I like you? I...don’t expect you to share my feelings. That’s fine. But I’m still your friend, and when you’re going through shit, that’s when you need a friend most, Eddie. Don’t throw what we had away because you’re afraid. That’s what I’m here for. That’s exactly the point. Through good times, and especially through...the not good times.”

“You can’t be though,” Eddie turned to Waylon at last, and although the bruises were healing well, the hurt in his eyes was infinite and real.

“You can’t make it better Waylon. No one can. I don’t want you to have anything to do with it. We had a good time, a fun time, and it was the most....special moment of my life when you kissed me. But I can’t do things like that anymore. If he...” he trailed off, looked away.

Waylon smiled, faintly, hearing that Eddie, if nothing else, shared the sentiment for their kiss. If he thought about it hard enough, he could still feel the tingle residue from it.

“No, I can’t make it better,” he said. “You’d...there are people who can help, but they’re trained for it, and I’m not. I can only...stand beside you, hold your hand, and,” he remembered Sarah’s words, “be a reminder for what there can be.”

He reached out and rested a hand on Eddie’s forearm, the touch light and so powerful.

“There can be a future for you, Eddie. And I’d...like to be part of it. If I really was the only good thing that happened to you, then claim me as that, let me remind you that life’s worth giving a shit about. Before I met you, I don’t think I cared about living. Just surviving.”

Waylon painted a picture that could too easily seduce Eddie into staring at it with wishful eyes for hours. A future with Waylon? A normal teenager’s existence, where it was imperative to do stupid but fun shit, not get caught and laugh whilst doing it? That wasn’t possible for Eddie. He had places to be, a firm schedule, a harsh enforcer.

“I can’t. Waylon, I want to but I can’t. If I’m your friend, you’ll be drawn into my problems. But you don’t belong in them. You’re not a problem.”

Waylon clamped his tongue down to prevent shouting. His anger wasn’t directed at Eddie, nor did he deserve the brute force of it. Instead, he relied on the hurt in Eddie’s eyes to keep him calm, reach out and rest against him in a short-lived embrace.

“You don’t get to decide what a friend does for you, Eddie. That’s what makes them your friend, not a pet. A friend is stubborn, annoying even, and will look out for you even when you think they need to run away. A real friend will let you vent at them to get the hell away, but will still be there.”

He leaned back and met Eddie’s eyes.

“I’m not abandoning you, Eddie. No matter how much you want to keep me from getting involved, I already am. Because if I leave you, then it means I never cared for you enough. I’m sorry. I’m...staying right by you. Always.”

Eddie groaned and let the pan he’d been scrubbing for a good ten seconds slide back in. He wiped his face with a soap-sudded hand and glared down at Waylon.

“I don’t want you to get hurt. Can’t you respect that? Staying near me will get you hurt.Waylon, seriously, don’t do this to me.”

Waylon’s smile was small and full of apology.

“I do respect that, and I understand it. But now there’s something you need to understand, Eddie…”

He searched Eddie’s eyes, hoping his friend would do the same, see the agony riddling his expression, born from his self-inflicted attachment to Eddie and the pain Blaire had him under at all times.

“I’m already hurting bad, Eddie. But if you send me away, that’s the kind of pain I can’t come back from, and it’s a pain you’ve been feeling too. Haven’t you?”

“What’s hurting you?” Eddie suddenly seemed entirely lucid, focused on only one part of what Waylon said. There was something new in his eyes now, and it wouldn’t be placated by the uncomfortable atmosphere of the situation. Something had happened to Waylon, aside from his unfortunate discovery of Eddie’s circumstances.

And whatever it was, it cut deep into his friend’s psyche.

“Why are you hurting?” his voice shook a little.

“It hurts to not be around you, Eddie,” Waylon said, cupping his friend’s face, hoping it would focus him on this conversation, and not the inevitable one to come much later. “Things have just been...tough and without you, it makes it feel like there isn’t a sun to brighten my day. You saw me as hope for you, but can’t you see you do the same thing for me?”

“That’s not it,” Eddie seemed determined that he was onto something, and even seemed to channel a little Miles because he was going to pursue this all the way without letting Waylon talk him onto a different path.

“It was like this before, but I can...see that something hurt you. What’s happening to you Waylon? Someone is hurting you, and you’re...it feels like you’re fleeing into my problems to escape.” Eddie seemed surprised by his own insight, and in the same moment, realized there was only one person who could want to hurt Waylon at all.

“Jeremy Blaire.”

It was an impulse of a decision, but Eddie knew he’d carry it out, regardless of second thoughts or consequence. He was going to kill Jeremy Blaire.

Waylon had shaken his head like a mutt, grasping Eddie’s shirt to realign his focus. If anything, it encouraged Eddie to dig deeper, search the secrets so obvious to one who experienced them himself.

It was hopeless to stop Eddie, and somehow Waylon knew Eddie would know of his pain even if he hadn’t brought it up. Waylon swallowed hard, his grip weak on Eddie’s clothes.

“I...It was my fault,” he whispered. “For letting him get me involved. I...it wasn’t….”

He quivered, and it was good he held onto Eddie now for another reason. He swallowed and shut his eyes tightly.

“He...uh…” He couldn’t finish, but he managed to open his eyes and look up at Eddie.

“What...what did he do? Tell me, Waylon,” Eddie knew he felt rage simmer under his skin, turning his blood cold enough to consider slaughtering Blaire in the most intimate of details. But he couldn’t let his friend catch a glimpse of that.

Yet, as he waited for an answer from Waylon, it all cleared up for him. If he got rid of Blaire, Waylon would not be in pain. With his tormentor gone, he could enjoy his life again, and stay away from Eddie. It would be a gift to his favourite and only friend.

Waylon shook his head again, harder this time.

“N-No. It’s not fair that you want to know but I can’t know about you, Eddie. Someone is hurting you too. I know it.” He had the courage and urge to trace old scars. “It’s your father, isn’t it? It’s not right. You don’t deserve any of it, Eddie. I wish you could see that.”

Eddie flinched under Waylon’s touch, but he held still. It was an odd place and situation to share anything, but they were alone, and he wanted to know what Blaire had done to the best person in his life.

What choice did he have?

“You can’t tell anyone,” Eddie whispered, as if he did not understand that the world already knew, and just didn’t care, “I’ll be in so much trouble...like last time...My dad is...strict. But...but he says it’s because he loves me that he has to hurt me.”

“No!” Waylon knew enough to hiss the words. “That’s not love, Eddie. Love doesn’t hurt.”

His fingers moved to Eddie’s jaw, where old bruises must have been, where new kisses could be placed. So much pain had touched Eddie, shaped his life to convince him it was an inevitability.

“Love is good,” he said. “Love protects you, makes your stomach and heart feel great in a funny way, love...wants to see you safe. That’s what real love is, Eddie.” He leaned his head against a broad chest, not caring the setting was the least apropos for this talk. “I’m so sorry no one ever showed you differently.”

He hadn’t wanted to let Waylon close like this again, but maybe this one little slip wouldn’t be punished. Eddie let his hand linger on Waylon’s side, like he could just do in his daydreams where he escaped his life with Waylon just like that.

“You don’t understand, Waylon. No one does. It’s just different in my family.” At least, that’s what his mother told him when she cleaned up bruises and dried tears. Mostly her own.

“Tell me what Blaire did.”

“I could understand if you’d just let me,” Waylon said against his chest, hugging Eddie now firmly around the waist, as if his small body could offer all the protection and safekeeping Eddie would need from his family.

Still, it was unfair for him to keep his secrets after Eddie had shared a piece of himself.

“He...has been making me do some software for him and encrypt files. Then, he...started hitting me a little and it’s..he says he could make your life worse, and,” he stumbled over his words, “l-last time...he...I...he forced me on my knees, Eddie.”

That was enough for Eddie to know Blaire deserved what he had in mind for him. That rotten little seed was a blight on both of their lives, and Eddie would do them the favour.

But for now, he couldn’t let on. So he hugged Waylon to him, close and tight, ignoring how his hands soaked his friend’s jacket.

“Waylon...I’m so sorry Waylon...you...not you, not you Waylon.”

Waylon couldn’t help it. He chuckled and nestled into the embrace, sighing at the moment of peace he felt in this moment, getting dirty and wet in the back of a high school cafeteria kitchen.

“Eddie,” he said, “it’s okay. Thinking of you has given me the kick I needed to not let it get to me. I can’t...imagine what you’ve been through, Eddie. I can’t ever understand your pain, but I just...want to be here, like this, for you.”

He squeezed tighter and exhaled shakily.

“I love you, Eddie.”

Eddie wished Waylon would have kept that in his mind, and not spoken it aloud. It just made everything muddy and unpleasantly uncertain. Eddie didn’t like having to think about what it meant, for Waylon to be in love with him. His first impulse was to say it back, to run away with Waylon and go see movies and kiss. The second had him reel away from Waylon, to go home and punish himself for having that first thought.

Thankfully for all involved, Eddie did neither of those things. Instead, he pushed Waylon gently from his chest and patted his sandy hair, then his chest where his hand lingered over his friend’s racing heart.

“You...you need to keep that inside, Waylon. It’s not allowed, we’re both guys, they....they would say its wrong. We’d be punished. Just keep it in here, Waylon. And I’ll keep it here,” he moved his hand to his own chest.

Waylon had more in him to protest that, but Eddie earned his complacency. So, he smiled and nodded, then drew Eddie’s hand to kiss it.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone, Eddie, but...maybe we can talk later. I miss you. I--”

“Park.”

Waylon tensed, turning his head though his body unconsciously sank back into Eddie.

Blaire stood at the far end of the cafeteria, a mean smirk gracing his perfect face.

“Aren’t you late for a date with Billy?”

Waylon inhaled sharply, evident he didn’t want to leave.

“Hey, there, Gluskin. I’m going to need my pet back now. Don’t you have some scrubbing to do, or would you rather I report your lack of work ethic?”

Eddie tensed too, arms leaving Waylon to slide him a little behind Eddie’s bulk. Not that Blaire was doing anything more threatening than meandering closer slowly. Somehow, all staff was absent from the kitchen now.

“I am allowed to take breaks.” Eddie replied, though it was not much of an argument.

“Sure. But not to socialize. You see, Gluskin, rats don’t have privileges. Especially not dirty, diseased ones such as you.”

Blaire paused by a large container of sauce, presumably prepared for tomorrow’s lunch or left from yesterday’s.

“You missed a spot here,” Jeremy pushed the pot over with a finger, stepping daintily over the thick, brown liquid that spilled from the cluttering pot on the floor.

“And here,” a large container of flour joined the pot of sauce, “You’re terrible at your job. I will definitely have to report this. Breaking school property is going to cost you, Gluskin.” a whole tray of cups shattered on the disgusting floor, shards falling into pools of gravy and flour. Blaire somehow managed to stay clean and clear of it all.

He was right in front of Eddie now, and half a head shorter than his victim.

“Don’t ever backtalk to me, you worthless piece of human trash.” Blaire hissed.

Eddie glowered, watched the kitchen be destroyed with helpless anger, and now that Blaire was before him, all he could think about was how he would kill this horrible young man.

Waylon knew he was a coward before he was hunkering behind Eddie, seeking refuge as Blaire performed his part well. He flinched with each clatter and bang, one hand coming into a fist as he and Eddie shared hatred, anger, and even fear.

And when Waylon looked up and saw Eddie being obligated to take it or else worsen the situation, it did something to his heart, and his brain. He saw Blaire, who was filthier than the floor he had ruined, saw his smug smile that needed to be checked into place.

Before Waylon knew he was doing it, he rushed forward, the momentum all he needed to shove Blaire off balance. The guy slipped on his own mess, but didn’t fall as he caught himself on the ledge of a counter. Still, the damage was enough. Waylon saw it in his expression.

“G-Get the fuck away from Eddie or I swear I’ll find a way to tell everyone what you did to me last week,” Waylon said, in a voice weaker than he hoped, but still different from his own. “E...Even if you prove me a liar, which I’m not, it’ll still mean damage c-control for you. Asshole.”

“Oh, the kitten has claws,” Jeremy laughed as he steadied himself, brushed off some flour from his immaculate blazer. He certainly dressed like a successful banker in his early thirties rather than a highschool kid.

“You are so, so predictable, Park.”

Eddie inched forward, only to take Waylon’s arm and pull him back into his presence.

“You will pay, Blaire. Everything comes back to you eventually.”

“You should know, daddy’s little boy.” Blaire’s smirk was razors and it made Eddie flinch. Still, it did nothing to assuage the rage in him.

“You’re throwing your lot in with the wrong crowd, Park. You’re gonna regret that.”

Blaire waited until his words set in, before he made his way out. Still, the cafeteria remained empty. Eddie started picking up the containers and trying to stop the liquid mess from going everywhere.

“You better go, Waylon. I have to clean this up. Do...don’t worry about him. I can take care of myself.”

Waylon knew the moment he touched Blaire the way he had it would cost him. He hated physical pain, and whatever Blaire had in mind no doubt trumped that. He didn’t even allow himself to think that Blaire would step up the sexual assault.

His strength came from Eddie, and did so now as he clamored around with shaky limbs, feeling like he was going to vomit, helping Eddie collect the pots.

“I...He has no right...to do that to you. He told me he wouldn’t and-and...S-Sorry.” He looked at Eddie, then nodded. “Y-Yeah, I better go. I don’t...fuck, sorry.”

He hesitated, then went over and pressed their foreheads together briefly.

“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself too.”

“No you can’t,” Eddie whispered, but didn’t let Waylon linger for an answer. He shuffled him out of the kitchen and turned back to tackle the mess Blaire left behind.


	15. Poor Twisted Me

Waylon’s luck changed about a week later. Blaire’s revenge fell flat, as did his perfect attendance. He was nowhere to be seen, and his lackeys milled around without purpose. Except Billy Hope, who continued to pursue Waylon by means of texts, small gifts and frequent ‘coincidental’ meetings in the hallway.

Except those were countered by some fierce resistance in form of Lisa, who barged in on every single one of these meetings and always dismissed Hope rather quickly.

Today, she dragged Waylon to have lunch with Miles and his friends, since Eddie would work all lunch without getting out of the kitchen.

When they got to the table, the usual, lively conversation was absent. Everyone was sort of poking around their food. Miles looked thunderstruck and didn’t even think about his cooling lunch.

“What the heck is up with you guys? Who died?” Lisa joked as she and Waylon sat down. She was not expecting to get an answer.

“Jeremy Blaire.” Sarah said quietly.

It was nothing short of a miracle in Waylon’s book when his week perked up. He’d expected Blaire to corner him, to exact punishment for his disobedience. It never came. Billy, harmless as he proved to be for the most part, even gave him a break when Lisa had enough of his antics. Waylon didn’t think he could be more grateful to her.

Though he hadn’t wanted to have lunch with them all, he knew it was to his benefit, so he let her guide him to lunch. She took care of him, really. She even helped him settle in and made sure he spread his lunch out to eat. It made him think of Eddie and the lunches he still tried to sneak to his friend, to no avail. It was difficult when Eddie kept so busy lately.

He’d just about taken a bite of a cracker when Sarah spoke up.

The snack fell from his grip. It must have taken him a whole minute to process it.

“H...He’s dead?” he looked around, then leaned forward. “Wait, wait...shit. What? I mean...for real? How? When?”

“s’no surprise, is it? He had it comin’.” Miles didn’t even attempt to sound sober, and he took another swig from a suspiciously dark coke bottle. He didn’t look triumphant, and his eyes still held a hint of red. No one picked up on it though, not in the way of conversation. Sarah took it upon herself to explain the situation, best she could.

“Miles found out from his dad this morning. They found Blaire’s...body. In the woods. You know, not so far from his house? Someone....someone killed him. He was...strung up in a tree, his torso...cut open like-”

“Oh god, he’s fucking dead!” Miles moaned with the beginnings of a headache, dropping his head to the table. Simon rubbed his shoulder, soothing him silently.

“Way, it was...definitely personal. Miles obviously wasn’t supposed to tell anyone but...”

Waylon stared at his lunch, seeing beyond it, seeing Blaire’s body strung up worse than one did a pig. He lifted his eyes at Miles’ outburst. His heart ached.

Carefully, he detached himself from Lisa and went around to sit next to Miles.

“Miles,” he said, touching his shoulder. Though it pained him to see Miles suffering, it gave him the distraction assess his own feelings on the reality of Blaire’s death. “Miles, come on…”

He took the bottle, already smelling what it hid, and gently tugged at Miles to sit up so he could offer him water.

“You had history with Blaire,” he said. It wasn’t a question, not anymore like it had been long ago. He should have realized it from the beginning. “I...I’m so sorry…”

And he was. It sickened him, but maybe he was really weak, able to mourn the loss of a life, a human life, even one that was foul as Blaire’s. He couldn’t even compute what that meant for him, for his safety.

Miles didn’t seem to want to look at Waylon, his eyes kept straying back to the bottle and back to his food which he sure as hell wasn’t going to eat. History put it mildly. There was a reason he was so obsessed with revealing Blaire’s dirty work, a reason he couldn’t let go of the young, sleazy, deceased man.

And history didn’t begin to capture it adequately.

“He was a goddamn cunt. I know that...better than anyone else. But he didn’t fucking deserve to end up like this, shit,” Miles met Waylon’s gaze, stared back at himself in hopes of finding some sort of clue as to what he should do next.

“It’s all for nothing. All the fucking files...it doesn’t matter anymore. What the fuck...did Jeremy do, that someone would want to kill him?!”

The rest of the group remained silent, though each one of them might be capable of feeling some satisfaction that Blaire was gone in a way. None of them wished to speak of it though.

Miles found solace in Waylon’s compassion, at least, and leaned a little closer.

“You know we fucked, right? Yeah, and often. He didn’t used to be such a bucket of horseshit...not before his fucking dad got him into the family business of screwing people over. He changed...I wanted to know why. I wanted to expose all of his bullshit, take down what his cunt of a dad built up. So Jeremy could freaking see what the hell was wrong...so that he could stop doing it, and go back to being...how he was before.”

Waylon let Miles lean into him, offering an arm to support what was clearly his drunken, miserable wretch of a friend. A friend in love, from the sound of it. Waylon didn’t voice that, didn’t have to. He held Miles a little harder with his free arm, the other coming to rest on one of Miles’ arms.

“Yeah, I know,” he said.

Try as he might, he couldn’t fault Miles. Monsters weren’t born, they were made. It was easy to forget Blaire fell into that trap when he did the things he did to Waylon.

There were many questions, and yet Waylon couldn’t contemplate any of them now. Not now.

“I’m going to get him signed out,” he told the others. “I’ll take him to my place. We...have a lot to talk about. I’ll keep you guys posted, okay? He can’t stay at school like this.”

“Yeah...come on, we’ll get you to his car.” Lisa stood, taking Miles’ free arm and pulling him out of his chair. It only proved how true Waylon’s statement was when Miles let his friends drag him from the cafeteria. Right before they left, the kitchen door opened and Eddie carried a tray to the front. He saw Waylon, and he smiled at him. Grinned, actually, waving whilst balancing the tray on his hip.

“What the fuck is Gluskin smiling at?” Miles growled from where his head rested on Waylon’s shoulder.

Waylon had no fucking clue. It made him pause, and thus had Lisa stop or else let Miles slip from their grasp and collect as a sad heap on the floor. Eddie’s grin was contagious as it was mysterious.

Had he heard the news? That must be why. Right?

Waylon’s smile was more feeble, but he waved back and went back to coddling Miles.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m taking you to my place, okay? You’re a mess.”

“I ain’t a mess. You’re a mess.” Miles mumbled as they finally arrived in his car after signing out. If he’d thought about for a moment, there was no way Eddie could know what only Miles had communicated to his friends.

But perhaps Waylon was not in the best place to be quizzical, with his half-drunken friend lounging in the passenger seat.

“Drive careful. She’s moody.” he patted the door of his jeep.

Waylon sighed, definitely preoccupied with Miles to consider Eddie’s good mood not matching the facts he had. After a hug from Lisa, he managed to maneuver Miles’ jeep with some ease. It was easy to overlook he lacked a license. A permit was fine. Least he could drive.

His mom wasn’t fond of him breaking the law, but his punishment could be postponed at the sight of Miles. She brought him what he needed as Waylon navigated his friend to his bed, stripped him to just his shirts and pants, and had him lie down.

It took more effort to bully Miles into drinking some water.

“Get some rest, Miles,” Waylon said, watching his face. “You really did a number on yourself. But...you didn’t fuck up. You were trying to help him, Miles.”

Miles didn’t do more than complain that he was meeting Waylon’s parents a hell of a mess, and being navigated like an overgrown baby, but he mostly relished the softness of Waylon’s bed and his company. Definitely his company. He didn’t want to be alone with his emotions any more. That’s why he’d started drinking this morning. His dad was going to be so pissed that he broke into his stash...

“He’s dead, Waylon. What the hell does it matter now? His...his body’s in a lab, being cut up and shit. I...Fucking Jeremy. Why didn’t he ever listen to me? Why did he have to be such a jackass? They’re not gonna look into it, I bet. They’re just gonna find some junkie to blame and that’ll be the end of it. Like he didn’t even matter at all. He’s just...he was just meat for them. He was a fucking person. A horrible one, yeah, but still...”

“I know,” Waylon said, extending his penchant for cuddling to Miles.

After removing some of his own clothing, he sank into the bed beside Miles, hand rubbing circles on his friend’s back. It always made him feel better when his mom did it, anyway.

“He was lucky that someone cared for him. You cared, even if he...became what he did. And I’m not an expert, but I think that matters more than anything. Life goes on, just...yours will have it harder now because of it.”

He never had experience with death, or even abuse before moving to this city. He had to take a moment to appreciate how good he had it.

He pulled Miles a little closer.

“You still matter, Miles. Maybe finding the truth would bring you closure. I don’t know...just don’t give up, okay? Blaire had you, even if he didn’t see it. And you have Lisa, and Simon, and Sarah, Andy...me. Especially me.”

“You’re so mushy,” Miles complained, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice. At least Waylon could be sure that his friend appreciated his care, even through his stupor.

“Truth...that’s a thing...I want to know who did it, and why. Maybe then I can..let go.” he sighed, turned his head slowly until he could stare at Waylon. He let their silence grow comfortable for a while.

“You know what’s like to love someone, Way? Someone who’s just so fucked up you can’t even keep up with their crazy shit?”

Waylon shifted his arms to accommodate Miles’ roll over. Funny how a death brought them so close, physically. In some ways it comforted Waylon too, and he let himself be mushy by nestling closer.

“I...yeah, I fucking do.” He sighed and rubbed an eye then tucked deeper under his blanket. “Just a few days ago I said it. To...Eddie. He’s not Blaire but he’s fucked up in his own way. Maybe it’s not love, maybe it is. But to me, it is. So yeah, I kind of know what you mean.”

Blaire and Eddie weren’t so different, crazy and disturbed as that left Waylon feeling. Both needed serious help, and probably months, hell years, of a psychiatrist’s assistance. Only difference now was that Eddie still had the chance. Blaire’s had been taken from him.

“You’re a softie too,” he whispered. “I can’t judge you for feeling what you feel. I’m just...sorry I can’t...do more. I can look at the stuff I collected last time. I...hadn’t yet. The memories--”

He stopped, a thought flooding to him. He pulled up mental shields to stop it from hitting him now. He couldn’t think about it. Not now. Didn’t want to think of Eddie’s connection to this.

“Try to sleep,” he added quickly. “I think you need it. I’ll call your dad later.”

“Oh god, do you want me dead?” Miles stuffed his face into the pillow and groaned. Whiskey in the morning was such a bad idea, and he swore never again.

“Just...if you do call him...make something up. He’s gonna throw a fit about this.”

Waylon smiled, unable to miss the reality that they were just teenagers living the theme of drama, so helpless and unable to run to their moms for help.

“Don’t worry. I got your back.”

**-x-**

Miles slept like the dead, so there was no need to alert his father of his misdoings. Waylon did indeed make up something, and it went over smoothly. Miles’ dad seemed pleased that he was at Waylon’s place. He must have looked into him or heard enough about him to know how harmless he was, a good influence.

A kitten, as Blaire put it.

Waylon managed to convince his mom to keep tabs on Miles. He made up a lie about picking up their homework, needing the walk to clear his head anyway. By the time he got back to school, it was at the end of it. Good timing.

He swallowed hard, yet again, and rushed around campus, remembering Sarah’s list of placed Eddie was depending on time and date. Today he’d be going to do field work, so Waylon waited at the bleachers by the equipment closet, foot tapping a frantic rhythm, heart thumping, head swimming.

Eddie seemed in a merry mood as he rolled out the lawnmower, whistling along to some song. His good mood had very dark roots, but that knowledge was safe in his own head. He felt so good, having solved a problem in not only his, but Waylon’s life too. School would be much easier without the threat of that horrid bully hanging over all of their heads. Eddie felt like a million bucks.

The tune piqued Waylon’s interest right up. An oldies tune, and this time it sent a new kind of shiver along his skin. He stood up, considered the option to turn back, then made his way down the steps.

“Eddie!”

He flagged him down and approached, keeping his distance, taking in Eddie. Good mood. Too good a mood. He hadn’t left his father’s abuse, that much was testament to his current employment situation. No way would he be working if he didn’t have to.

So then…

“Blaire’s dead,” Waylon said, so soft a breeze could sweep it up before Eddie heard it. There were no breezes today.

Eddie had pulled out his earbuds as soon as he saw Waylon. He didn’t think he’d see his friend again today, since he’d last watched Waylon drag Miles away from school and to his jeep. It was a relief to share his company now, though those words dampened his mood. Waylon didn’t sound happy as he said what Eddie already knew.

Was he to lie? No, he would not. Not to Waylon.

“I know.”

Waylon stared at him.

Eddie knew. He knew when he shouldn’t have. Or rather, he knew because of a reason Waylon didn’t want to be true. How hard he’d try to tame the suspicion down.

Eddie knew. He knew more than any of them.

It became harder to breathe. The world tilted to one side. It was worse than after Blaire had his fun with him. His hands were shaking, his body felt like it was detaching from his mind and he wasn’t really there, that he could impale himself with one of those vaulting poles and not feel a thing.

He overlooked the fact that he hadn’t eaten today either, and it made it that much easier for the panic attack to overcome him. He staggered a few steps back then pressed a hand to his head.

Eddie had killed Blaire. No, he’d...tortured him, then killed him, then tortured his corpse.

“Oh...God, oh, God,” it went on like a mantra, his skin felt chilled but he felt so hot inside.


	16. Oh Darling

“Waylon?” Eddie looked the picture of innocent concern, frowning slightly before he reached forward to steady his friend. He couldn’t quite fathom why the slighter male would be reeling like someone had struck him, unsteady on his feet.

“Are you sick? You don’t look so good.”

Waylon collapsed into Eddie the moment he touched him. It proved enough to keep him from completely sinking into the creeping darkness. He clutched Eddie to steel himself and took in some deep breaths.

“I...think I’m about to faint…N...Need to…”

He gestured with a floppy hand, and Eddie seemed to understand and eased him down. Waylon’s mom’s advice told him to rest his head in Eddie’s available lap and force his legs up on the lawnmower, to get the blood back to his head where it was needed.

He kept his eyes closed for a moment, breathed, brought himself back into his body.

When he opened his eyes, and saw where he was, he whimpered.

“E...Eddie,” he said. He searched his friend’s eyes. “You...killed him. You took someone’s life.”

Eddie had sat very still for Waylon, kept stroking his side and head as he was clueless to what he should do with his friend like that. But once Waylon breathed okay again and looked up at him, the tension eased out of his shoulders. Even when Waylon posed that question.

“I know. But it was a bad life. A bad person. That makes it alright. He was hurting you. No one should ever hurt you, Waylon. He was hurting other people too, but hurting you is unforgivable. He wouldn’t even ask for forgiveness when I asked him to repent. So he had to go. Waylon....my darling Waylon...he can’t hurt you anymore.”

Waylon’s throat ran dry as Eddie divulged a secret now only two of them knew. Three, but the dead don’t speak. Waylon’s lip quivered as he struggled a way to respond to that. 

Eddie had murdered someone for his sake. He might not have given the okay, never would, but it was his fault all the same.

“W-Why,” he cracked out, though Eddie had already answered that. “You fucking can’t kill someone like that, you...fucking ca-,” he was gripping Eddie’s shirt hard, propping himself to sit up. Still trembling, he dragged Eddie’s head against his neck and shoulder, cradled him there, voice too much a mess to make sense to anyone.

“Shh,” Eddie soothing Waylon was very much contrary to their actual positions. He was the fully fledged criminal now, with a murder to his name and a body cooling in a morgue. Still, he felt righteous, heroic even, for having rid the world of one problem.

And it had given him the final solution to his own. Killing...was not so hard. There were so many ways to end a life. It could be so easy, to slit a throat, to gut a man, to strangle one to death...and there were so, so many bad men in the world.

Waylon should be proud of him, really.

“It’s okay. I did it with gloves. And I threw away all the things I used, in the lake. No one will know.”

Jesus fucking shit. Waylon was lucid enough to know that meant premeditated murder. It didn’t matter if no cops found out. Waylon knew, just as he knew he couldn’t let Eddie go about his business thinking what he did was right.

Some would side with Eddie, but Waylon couldn’t accept his deeds. If anything, it provided testimony to how skewed Eddie’s thinking was. A home of violence and assault justified the same back onto others.

Waylon never felt so repulsed and saddened at once.

But the way Eddie looked at him, proud to be his protector, and the way he calmed him down, it reminded Waylon of their time in the theater.

He knew his face was a mess from the sniveling, and Eddie didn’t seem to mind.

“God, Eddie,” he drew their foreheads together, and breathed. “You...it’s done. But you…”

Fuck, he couldn’t speak. Nothing he said would make sense to him, or to Eddie no doubt. What could he do?

He listened to his gut and just pulled Eddie into embrace, basked in his presence. It was the only thing that made him feel okay in that moment.

He did manage to say, “I’m so sorry.”

“What for?” Eddie happily returned the embrace, it was a reward for what he’d done, probably. Even if not, he would see it that way for himself. He was allowed to enjoy little things like this, right?

“You’re safe now, Waylon. And I will keep you safe. And, and, I will finish school, with your help, and get a good job and then I can move out...and maybe then..we can be...together? If you still want to? I will work of course, but we could maybe go on...dates?”

Waylon laughed weakly, because he didn’t miss the ridiculous severity of his life. How easily he could have steered his path toward Lisa, fallen in love with her (he didn’t doubt he could), and--and what? Let Eddie fall into a cycle, be a product of a broken system?

He hugged Eddie tighter and kissed his cheek. It felt so natural to do so.

“Y-Yeah, I’d like to be with you, Eddie. I still want to.” But Eddie needed serious help. At this rate, anyone who so much as looked at Waylon wrong--No, he stopped himself there. He was thinking over this.

Blaire was a rare threat, and now he was gone.

There was one logical conclusion Waylon could find in the heap of their drama.

“We need to get you out of that house, Eddie. It’s...not good for you. What it’s doing to you. How it makes you...do what you did. I want you safe.”

“Waylon, I can’t move out yet,” Eddie chided, as if he was speaking to a child who had yet to learn the ways of the world, “My mom needs me. I have chores.”

And a new, unique perspective on how to solve the biggest problems of his life. Already, he’d formulated a plan. His father and uncle had patterns of behaviour, easy to anticipate and easy to interfere with. He’d have to do one after the other, and preferably within hours of each other. Gathering resources and waiting for the perfect timing wouldn’t take him long at all.

“Damn it, Eddie, I can’t bear knowing you’re there with him with,” Waylon jerked back to meet Eddie’s gaze. “That bastard’s hurt you badly. Look at what you’ve done because of him. He…”

Waylon ran his hands over Eddie’s face. The police had to know, and yet Waylon couldn’t fathom calling them. Not yet.

“You have to stay safe and...not do that again. Okay?”

“But I have to,” Eddie whispered, staring at Waylon with the dire hope he would understand. Out of all the people in the world, only Waylon Park could possibly understand what Eddie felt, and what he had to do. Problems needed to be taken care of in order to better one’s life and in this case, it wasn’t just Eddie’s.

“He hurts my mom...my sister...I have to, Waylon. Don’t you see? Don’t you know what they do to me? The sick, filthy things they forced me to do? When I was a little boy...I didn’t know what it was. Now I’m older, and I know. He raped me, Waylon. They both did. Again and again. My own...my father... I don’t want his love, and I don’t want him touch me. Not anymore. Never again.”

Waylon’s disgust magnified with each word. His heart sank and shriveled. His stomach lurched and the world did that tilting thing again. His grip tightened on Eddie.

“Jesus, Eddie...fuck, I...I didn’t know…”

Rape he suspected, but the gravity of it, the horror of it compounded with another family member--Waylon knew monsters were real in this world.

He leapt back into Eddie’s arms, which would have knocked them both over were Eddie not big as he was. He gripped him fiercely, forgetting what Eddie had in mind for his abusers. The nature of his abuse eclipsed all else.

“All this time, they were…”

He buried his face in Eddie’s neck, silencing the scream of frustration that would otherwise come out.

Eddie held him, silent for a moment longer as he felt Waylon’s sympathy, unspoken through his touch. He revelled in the little warmth it provided. There was someone in this world who cared for him, and his name was Waylon Park. There was beauty in that simple fact, and Eddie was drawn to it like a moth to light.

“Yes. All...all this time. I couldn’t tell anyone...the last time I did...they hurt me so bad, Waylon. You don’t...you don’t understand what they have done to me. How sick and filthy they have made me.”

Eddie had to catch his breath, his anger made him lisp his words and he hated how silly that made him sound. He cradled Waylon closer, took in his scent of desperate fear. How frightening this world must seem to someone as precious and pure as Waylon, Eddie could not imagine. 

“I have to do it, Waylon. It’s the only way I’ll be free. And then...we can be together. It’s...it’s like a hurdle, a task I have to complete and you...being with you has shown me what is at the end of it. And I want that more than anything in the world.”

Waylon shook his head and burrowed deeper into Eddie, carving a niche in his body. They must have made a strange picture to anyone who would see, but the building attached to the equipment room shadowed them from the real world, for now.

“Killing is bad,” he said against Eddie’s skin, “it’s...we can get you out without it, okay?”

His voice betrayed his logic. Spent, Waylon sank against Eddie completely, probably no better than a child. He wasn’t capable of processing that Eddie could see him as being irrational, overcome with emotion that he didn’t know what was best.

Adrenaline rushed out of him, the gates to the emotional flood leaving him so exhausted that his bones ached.

It was the worst place to lose consciousness, or maybe the best, but Waylon did, right there in Eddie’s arms.


	17. Amour

When Waylon awoke, it would be in the safety of his own home, but not the comfort of his bed. By his side, his father sat, reading some sort of newspaper with concern creasing his forehead.

Upon his son’s stirring, he looked over with a reassuring smile.

“Hey, it lives again. How are you feeling Waylon? You’ve had a rough day, huh? Sorry about keeping you on the couch, but your friend is sleeping off the mother of all hangovers.”

Waylon adjusted to the world, gone smeared with his lack of consciousness. His father's smile relaxed him as his body protested the act of sitting up. The world reeled.  
Several minutes later and some juice, Waylon deflated into his dad's touch, wanting parental comfort too much to think how lame it looked. He wanted them to make all the bad go away.  
Memories of Eddie hung in his mind.

"When...how did I get home? What time is it?"

He knew his dad was being patient despite the questions gnawing at him about his son's state of late. Guilt had Waylon regret keeping his parents out of reach. And appreciation kept him leaning against his dad, for their love, their undeniable love that had never hurt him.

"I think I screwed up bad, dad." He sniffed.

“What? Hey, hey, Waylon, it’s alright bud you’re home. Your friend Eddie dropped you off, said you passed out on him. He carried you all the way here.” Waylon’s dad inched closer, ruffled his son’s hair and offered him the comfort of an embrace.

“Miles told us about Jeremy Blaire. It’s horrible, something like that. We’ll understand if you need some time off, if you’d like.”

Waylon wholeheartedly, desperately, accepted the familiar assurance and comfort a parent’s embrace could supply. He drank it up, even if he went a little pink at the idea of Eddie cradling him through the streets like some knight delivering the prince back to his proper castle. Or something.

“Y-Yeah,” he exhaled. “I think Miles needs it too, but…”

He almost asked his dad what he should do, spill it all, but that meant exposing his own family to Murkoff. The bastards still had their claws on everyone. In the wake of Blaire’s death, of Eddie’s capability for violence, Waylon had forgotten all about the reason he’d helped Miles.

“Dad, if...a friend of yours, a really good friend, was in trouble, but telling a cop about it or something might make it worse, what would you do? Like...they did something...really, really bad, but because they were...sick or something.” He sat up, looking at his hands pooled on his lap. “Is there a right thing to do?”

“That depends...” Waylon’s father took a long moment to observe his son, and he saw that this was serious. Whatever Waylon wasn’t telling him was not one of those typical teenage problems with a ridiculously mundane answer.

“I think whatever is making your friend sick should be...the first priority. And it depends on whether or not someone is getting hurt.”

Waylon nodded as his dad spoke, this time not just for effect. It was a new surge of relief and purpose he got from his dad’s advice. It made so much sense that he felt better for having asked.

What made Eddie sick was his home. He had to leave it. He could...figure something out. Maybe Miles’ dad could help them, anything. Then, getting Eddie proper help was on the same level of ridding him of his abusive home.

“Thanks, dad,” he said. “I’m...going to rest upstairs a while. I’ll be okay.”

With his dad’s comfort and a final hug he returned, Waylon made his way back upstairs. At his door, he lingered to watch Miles. He’d have to talk to him about this. Eddie would be working most of the evening, so he should be okay until Waylon smoothed out details. Better that than dive in recklessly.

Crawling in beside Miles, he breathed in his friend’s scent, mingled with alcohol, and dozed off.

**-x-**

“I swear, Mrs Park, I feel fine. My dad wants me home and I can make it...I already bothered you enough,” Miles sounded exasperated, trying to keep his voice down and simultaneously fending off the Parks’ hospitality.

Yesterday, he’d found out Jeremy Blaire had been murdered by some psycho who cut people open. Today, he would go and find out who the hell could be so crazy, and he’d do everything he could to help bring that particular nutcase to justice.

But the first hurdle he had to leap was trying to leave the Parks’ house. They were way too nice, and too concerned for him to just let him waltz out. So all arguments were sort of futile, and Miles ended up staying long enough to shower, have breakfast and borrow some of Waylon’s clothes before he could even think about getting in his jeep and going home.

As it turned out, they had of course contacted Miles’ father about his little meltdown, and Steve Upshur had insisted that he come pick him up. After work.

Which meant the Parks kept Miles at their house, offering him the same warmth and comfort as their own son. Surprisingly enough, Miles made some use of that, and told them what he knew about Blaire’s death. Not to shock them, since they were lovely people, but because it felt good to talk about it.

By the time Waylon came downstairs, bleary-eyed still and looking pale, Miles was glued to the TV. As were the Parks, Waylon’s mother holding her hand to her mouth.

Waylon would just catch the trailing ends of the breaking news report.

“Male bodies in their late forties. Though police cannot yet determine their identities, it can be certain this investigation will be ongoing and thorough. These are not the first victims to be found this way and the question remains, what kind of deranged individual is roaming free in our community? I’m Susan Parker, and this is-”

“Holy shit.” Miles sank back against the sofa, pale as a sheet.

“Holy. Shit.” Waylon’s father turned off the TV and stood up to get himself water.

“Waylon! Honey, are you feeling better?” Waylon’s mother’s voice was thin.

Waylon didn’t answer her, couldn’t answer her. News of more deaths read smoothly from the pretty reporter’s lips, and crashed onto Waylon. This time, realization caught on quickly today, and it was a good thing the couch was within easy grasp to keep his body from collapsing.

Eddie.

He’d done as he promised. Waylon was too late to stop it.

“I...I have to,” he stared at the screen, then looked around frantically, “I...have to go...I have to go!”

He rushed around the couch and hurried to the door.

“Honey, wait! You look like you’re about to faint!” Mrs Park planted herself firmly between Waylon and the door, and there was no way he was going to get past her without some form of explanation. Concern radiated on her face.

“You’re not just gonna go run around outside with some sort of psycho on the loose, young man.”

Miles had gotten up the second he clued onto the restless Waylon, and he was glaring in his direction.

“Come on, Way, let’s head up to your room, huh? You missed half a day, let me catch you up.”

Waylon had no choice that didn’t involve squirming his way free, and that was essentially impossible when a parent’s concern had spiked to one of its high levels. Miles’ tone didn’t help either, so begrudgingly, Waylon treaded up the stairs with Miles’ aid.

When they made it to his room, he had enough foresight to look over his friend.

“I didn’t even ask how you were...sorry. You...okay?”

“No I’m not, but something tells me you’re in an even worse mood, if that’s possible. So. Fill me in. Where did you run off to? And why did Gluskin bring you home all damsel in distress style? Also where were you gonna run just now?”

Miles looked at Waylon, looked through him, wanted to grasp the truth with his hands and yank it out of his friend.

Waylon tensed up, aware he gave himself away through the physical reaction alone. After several heartbeats and considering lies, he knew he couldn’t play Miles that way. So he ducked his head outside to ensure no eavesdropping, then shut and locked his room. Last, he dragged Miles away from the door and sat him down on the edge of his bed.

Taking the spot beside him, because frankly Waylon needed to be sitting too, he inhaled deeply to prepare himself.

“I...talked to Eddie. I’m so sorry, Miles, he…” Waylon rubbed his arm. “A few days back, Eddie found out what Blaire was doing with me, and...I pissed Blaire off more when he came and started messing with Eddie. I...fuck, I think he was really going to have me raped. Really hurt me for talking back to him and shit.”

He kept his guilty gaze down. “I should have known then. I saw the look on Eddie’s face. And then...I confronted him and he told me he was going to do the same thing to his uncle and father for all the sick shit they did to his family, to him. I told him no,” he added quickly, “and...I passed out.”

Miles sat there, utterly thunderstruck. He waited for Waylon to start grinning and punching his shoulder, to claim the whole thing as a sick joke with terrible timing. Waylon didn’t do him that favour. He simply continued to look guilty.

Which meant it was the truth.

“Gluskin?” Miles whispered, voice sore and gone even though he hadn’t strained it for hours.

“Gluskin....murdered...Jeremy? And...and those people on TV....they’re....holy fucking shit, Waylon! We have to call my dad. Right now!”

Waylon forced his eyes up to let Miles see his reluctance. He didn’t have the vigor to openly protest given his state. Not that Miles was in any better shape.

“I need to find where he is first. He’s very...hurt, Miles, and he thinks he did the right thing taking out those people. I…”

He what? He couldn’t convince Eddie he needed to turn himself in, maybe plead temporary insanity. No, they didn’t even have money to scrounge up for a lawyer that could understand Eddie needed--

It struck Waylon hard then.

It didn’t matter that he wanted to run off with Eddie. His friend had killed three people, bad or not, and that meant he had to do time. In a mental facility that could help him, but that still meant the ordeal of lawyers and litigations and probably a good couple years at least before he could see Eddie beyond a prison, even if it was one to help those who needed it.

“God, Miles, how did things turn out like this…”

He shook his head hard. “No. I...Listen to me. I know he has to...he needs help, and I know that means being taken in. But at this rate, Murkoff’s going to...I don’t know. I think they’re going to trace it back to us and then what? They’ll hurt all of us, our families, it won't matter that your dad’s a cop. You were right, Miles, they’re fucking the town over badly and...and I don’t want to be another victim. Not anymore.”

He never felt so terrified in his life.

“What are you thinking? Gluskin doesn’t have...well, his mother is connected to Murkoff, but by the looks of his family, I don’t think she does more than clean toilets.” Miles seemed perfectly alright for a moment, before he let out a laugh that was halfway to insanity. He clasped a hand to his mouth.

“He really killed...he’s...so when we saw him in the cafeteria....” he felt sick to his stomach as he remembered Eddie’s smile. Was that what psychotic serial killers looked like when they started out? Jesus, the seriousness of their situation was beyond ridiculous.

“Who do you think he wants to...whack next? Bad people, you said? Fuck, that could be anyone in this town.”

Waylon shared Miles’ sentiment toward insanity. Thinking about Eddie, of his family and friends, it rooted him in reality. Though it would be a blessing to escape it all. Somehow Waylon knew moving out of town wouldn’t solve their problems, but exacerbate it.

“Not just bad people,” Waylon said, thinking over Eddie’s words. “With the exception of his father and uncle, it’s...people who hurt me especially. Eddie, he, well he sees me as like...the only good thing in his life. That’s why when he found out about Blaire, he killed…”

He trailed off and looked apologetically at Miles.

“I don’t think anyone is going to benefit unless we keep looking into what you were doing, Miles. Not just for us, or...for Eddie, even though I know you couldn’t give a fuck about him, but...for Blaire too. For you.”

He had to spark Miles’ interest again. So, facing him, he picked up on a memory he had tucked away a while back.

“You know Billy Hope, he told me something. He said Blaire had cleared his record. And he told me how he did favors for Blaire too, but he never really went into detail.” He knew he was shooting in the dark, but he swore he saw some shade of light moving around in the distance. “I told you he’s not right in the head,” he thought of the medical files, “do you think...this place is just like...a big lab for them? Like, the town is the maze and we...we’re the rats?”

“That sounds like...biting off a lot more than we can chew...which, as it happens to be, is my forte,” Miles wiped his face, pushed his hair back as if it would spontaneously return to its former Upshur glory.

But much like Miles, his hair was flat and drained.

“Even if it were the case...it wouldn’t do anything for Gluskin. You get that part, right? He’s clearly crazy, but he’s not gonna escape punishment for murdering people...The only thing we might influence in that aspect is that...you know, he won’t be handed off into a lab at Murkoff.”

Miles shrugged and exhaled the air he’d been trapping in his lungs. This was all so big and serious and although he’d been the one whose nose was in deepest, he wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere and play stupid teenager again.

“Can’t let your parents know. But we still need to call my dad. Let me explain it to him. He’ll get it. Trust me, he won’t want to fuck this chance up. You just have to tell him where to look for Gluskin...well, for the definite...proof he did it.”

Waylon watched Miles struggle with the scoop he’d been digging for, and how much bigger it was than a couple of teenagers. A group, if you included the others, and Waylon suspected they would. It felt abnormal that the adults lacked the recklessness, the capability to do what a bunch of teenagers were about to. Waylon had to keep his parents safe.

“Okay. You...talk to him.” He bit his lip. “I won’t testify against Eddie if it means putting him in prison. He needs help. But...I...tell him to...look in the lake. The stuff against Blaire might be...rotted by now but for the others, there…”

He had to stop talking about it.

“I’m going to try and find him. He...shit, do you think the police already talked to him? Maybe your dad will know. They were his dad and uncle. They might be questioning him, and if they’re done, maybe they know where he is now.”

“Depending on what he said, they’re probably not gonna hold him.” Miles wanted to take a two hour drive through the mountains to clear his head, but this was too serious for such a waste of time. He still didn’t want to think about what it all meant.

“But he’ll probably still be at the station. I think your folks will let us go there, definitely. Okay, come on.”

Miles’ prediction was right, in every aspect. The Parks allowed their son and his friend to leave, only with the firm promise they were going straight to the station and nowhere else. Miles wistfully considered his mountain drive, but dutifully pulled into the police station’s parking lot. The whole building was bustling with activity. Not usual for this sleepy city, but a budding serial killer had everyone on edge.

Miles’ father was not pleased to see them there.

“Miles? You should be at home. What the hell are you-”

“Not now, dad. You have to listen to us. This is Waylon, Waylon Park. We know who you’re looking for.”

The man stilled entirely, before pulling both teenagers into his cubicle.

“I don’t have time for your crazy Murkoff theories, alright Miles? This is serious. There are three dead bodies downstairs.”

Waylon’s nerves, frayed as they were, got worse on the drive to the station. He didn’t know what to say when they got there, how things would play out. He practically had to be yanked out of the jeep or he might have stayed put until he grew roots.

Inside, it was an orderly chaos of officers handling a triple murder in a town that hadn’t seen such trauma in, well, ever. Miles’ dad looked like a cop and it made Waylon want to crawl back to the jeep when they were pulled into the cubicle.

“It-It’s not a theory,” Waylon partly whispered across the cluttered desk. “I...uh...it wasn’t Murkoff that killed those people but they’re still to blame…”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He couldn’t say Eddie’s name.

“Blaire died because he was hurting me, and was going to hurt me worse.”

Miles’ father took a closer look at Waylon. He narrowed his eyes, searched for a kernel of deceit or otherwise. He really didn’t have time for his son’s shenanigans right now. He had a woodland territory to search, people to question and coffee to drink. It would be a long night, for sure.

“Listen, boys, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing tonight but I don’t have time for it right now. We just ID’d the bodies, and it’s definitely someone with a personal agenda, so there’s a serial killer with a vendetta out there and you two in here are keeping me from my job.”

“But dad, Murkoff-”

“No, Miles. Shit, not now. Any other night, okay? I can’t be dealing with any more conspiracy theories!”

Miles and his father clearly had this conversation many a times, because the stalemate was palpable.

“He’s not gonna believe us,” Miles hissed.

Waylon looked between father and son when said father wasn’t scrutinizing him. Already Miles was facing defeat, having had this kind of argument multiple times over. That meant Waylon couldn’t sit back and play with vague details.

Reluctantly he looked at Miles’ dad again.

He hated to dig up not old-enough memories. Waylon considered the right terminology.

“Jeremy Blaire...he...sexually assaulted me and...he was going to do worse, so...so...E-Eddie. His dad and uncle were raping him and abusing him in every way,” he blurted out fast, “it wasn’t his fault. Those three had turned into monsters and they set him off! It’s not his fucking fault and I’m not going to let Murkoff fuck him or me over!”

He was standing now, hands on the desk, shouting louder than he realized.

Miles’ father sat perplexed at the outburst. He didn’t know what to say for a long moment. Then, he slowly took a piece of paper and a pen, all whilst staring at Waylon.

“Okay. Okay, calm down. And repeat exactly what you just said. From what I understood, you are saying Eddie...Gluskin, I presume, committed these murders?”

He looked incredibly serious and his gaze alone implored Waylon to honesty.

“And you know this how?”

Waylon sniffed and flinched as he sat down upon noting how angry he’d gotten in a limited amount of time. Aware of the looks from Miles and his dad, he shifted again in his seat.

“I confronted him,” he whispered. “He told me. But listen, it’s not just about that. Miles was right about all that crazy talk on Murkoff. I think we can prove it. We just need a little time. I know someone who can tell us about it. Blaire was in deep with something involving Murkoff, his grandpa too I wager.”

“Just stay with me for a minute here,” the pen was flying over paper, and Miles’ father kept his tone calm and low, “That may all add up to motive. But for now, I want to know exactly what Eddie Gluskin told you. He confessed to murder? Did he tell you anything more about it?”

Miles exhaled loudly and glared at his dad.

“Are you listening? We can get an insight to Murkoff’s dirty-”

“Miles, be quiet. First priority is on this murder case.”

Waylon understood where Miles’ dad came from. That didn’t make it easier to swallow. Sure, if Eddie was prioritized as the killer, that meant less time to uproot Murkoff’s ill doings.

“I don’t want to talk about Eddie,” he said softly, sitting up straight,, “I want to talk about Murkoff.”

“Waylon,” the officer sighed, pinching his forehead to try and keep calm. These damn kids just didn’t understand how the world worked, and he had no patience to explain it to them.

“You have to understand what you’re doing. You’re accusing Eddie Gluskin of triple homicide. That’s serious beyond all measure. Whatever is attached to Jeremy Blaire and Murkoff, that comes after. But you have to give me something I can work with. That’s Eddie Gluskin. Once he’s in custody, you can tell me everything you know. Do you understand? This young man is dangerous, and he’s killed three people. He needs to be behind bars.”

Truth hurt. It almost made Waylon sink into himself. He kept his back straight and didn’t break his gaze off Miles’ dad.

“I...understand, but Eddie needs help. Not to be put in prison and left there.”

“He’s a kid. I remember the case we had against his father...if he’s willing to confess about it this time...I’m sure we can get him help.” It might not be the exact truth, but Miles’ father was confident he could at least give Waylon that hope.

“Now, his exact words.”


	18. Stein um Stein

He never felt so free. There was absolutely nothing he could compare this to, and absolutely nothing that could rival this feeling. Wind tore at his face, carried away his laughter. The road was wide, open and empty. Much like his life. It was a silly metaphor that Eddie could treasure for himself, maybe even in years to come.

The state line wasn’t all too far off. He’d been driving all night, leaving behind his home, his sister and perplexed mother. All the trouble and pain, it was all behind him. Nothing would touch him. No one would catch him. His future was finally his, and his alone.

**-x-**

“Way?”

Miles’ voice was quiet on the phone. After the exhausting hours spent at the station, Waylon and Miles had each been escorted home where they were to wait until notified.

Waylon’s notification was a phonecall from his friend, well past four in the morning.

“My dad just got back. They...they didn’t...Eddie’s gone.”

Waylon hadn’t felt any better after unloading the burden to Miles’ father. It just meant a new phase of anxiety as they waited to hear back. He did, and the news came as a startling revelation.

“He ran?” Waylon sat up in his bed where he occupied plenty of his time since returning from the station. “Shit. I...I don’t think he ran though,” he remedied, rubbing his forehead. “If anything, he probably feels like he can do what he really wants to now, be free. Fuck. I didn’t consider that was an option. He doesn’t even have a cell phone for me to call him.”

He lowered his head onto his palm.

“I don’t...fuck, sorry. Thanks for letting me know.” He had to refocus, keep distracted. There was no way to go after Eddie. “I asked Billy to come over later tonight. If you want to come by. See what he has to say. I think I can get him to open up.”

Miles allowed a few seconds to understand what happened. Gluskin hit the road, probably the second after his victims were identified. Shit, he didn’t think the guy had it in him. There was only a modicum of sympathy in him for the impoverished young soul, but that went flying out the window the more he thought about the lives taken. Or rather, the life he cared for.

“Hope? He’s your way in? Yeah, of course I’ll be there. I don’t want you alone with that creep. I’ll be right over.” He hesitated a moment before speaking again, “...Waylon? You really didn’t see it coming? I’d understand if you...felt the need to, you know, tell him to get out.”

Waylon’s lip quivered, and he was grateful Miles couldn’t see it. No, he hadn’t told Eddie to get out, but maybe he had inadvertently. After all, he had tried to explain what Eddie had done was wrong, how people would see it as bad. Maybe that truth had stuck with Eddie.

He hoped.

It hurt worse to think Eddie had purposely left, and that meant leaving Waylon behind.

“N-No, I didn’t tell him. I, uh, gotta go, okay? See you in a couple hours.”

He hung up before Miles could think more on the tone of his voice.

A couple hours rolled by swiftly for once. Waylon had been so caught in the tangle of his own thoughts to let anxiety overcome him. Just as he got out of the shower and dressed, his mom told him Billy was here.

At her hesitance, he told her to let him up and assuaged her concerns for the moment. Plus, knowing Miles could be here any moment seemed to soften her up too.

Billy looked content as ever given the fact that his pal was dead. His eyes brightened at seeing Waylon and he soaked up the details of his ‘boyfriend’s’ room.

“Very you,” he said. “I heard about the killings. When you didn’t text me, I was worried and almost came over.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Um...Miles is coming by. You know, to check on me. Hope that’s okay.”

“Miles Upshur?” Billy snorted. “I don’t like him. He’s too close to you.”

“We’re not together.”

“But you could be.”

Waylon didn’t bother telling him that made little sense. “Sit down. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Is it about Lisa? I didn’t mean to call her a bitch. She just...got in the way so much.”

Waylon almost laughed, if he could remember how. “No, that’s...she didn’t take offense. She’s just looking out for me. We’re...never mind, look, just sit down, okay? I want to talk about Blaire.”

Billy did sit, sighing heavily at the topic of discussion. “I was hoping it would be a more romantic topic of discussion.”

Waylon watched Billy pat the bed. He internally groaned but sat beside him, keeping a foot between them at least. If he wanted Billy to open up, he had to play coy a little longer. He almost felt bad for doing it, but he was feeling too bad to feel anymore bad. If that made sense.

Immediately, Billy closed the gap and bumped their thighs together. He was smiling as he took Waylon’s hand.

Waylon grimaced and leaned away, then shoved at Billy’s face when the guy had the gall to try and kiss him.

“Jesus, Billy, are you listening to me? I want to talk.” He exclaimed when Billy kissed his palm instead, then wiped it on his pants.

“Honey! Miles is here. He’s coming up,” his mom’s voice shot up from below, a blessing Waylon accepted wholeheartedly.

“Miles!” Waylon called out. “Up here. And don’t hesitate to hurry, please!”

He ignored Billy’s pouting, but not the way he tried to sneak a kiss on his cheek.

Miles burst into the room with a played, casual air, but his eyes were daggers on Billy the instant he saw him.

“Hope. Don’t get comfy.”

Miles didn’t hesitate to let himself slouch into a seat between Billy and Waylon, the incarnation of literal cock-blocking in person.

“So, loverboy. You got some shit to tell us. Better make it fast. I’m inclined to kick your ass up and down the street for how you’ve been harassing Waylon.”

Waylon nudged Miles in thanks. For Billy’s sake, he smiled, and that seemed enough to mitigate the Miles interruption.

And, eventually, tell them everything.

**-x-**

Murkoff crashed and burned.

Both Waylon and Miles witnessed each pillar buckle, each root torn loose. Their information served to expose the deeds that had kept Murkoff in business for years. The truth rocked not just their town, but the country. The depth of Murkoff’s depravity abused those easy to abuse, easy to pay off, to forget, to make disappear.

They experimented on people, tortured them for the sake of science. Waylon couldn’t watch them burn down enough. With Eddie’s disappearance, which was still an ongoing investigation, that meant more devotion to Miles’ theories. They were no longer crazy.

Everyone listened. Billy Hope testified, then others did, and those that were beyond help existed as testament to Murkoff’s wrongdoings. Miles and Waylon provided further data, and testimony, which meant having everyone know what Waylon had endured under Blaire’s malice.

He wouldn’t let himself feel like a victim though.

Fuck Murkoff.

Waylon’s parents had been overwhelmed with the realization. Ultimately, it brought them that much closer, and Waylon let them hug him for as long as they needed to during those times. It encouraged a closer bond with his friends too, and they all came over often to his place during the process.

A long process.

Taking Murkoff down didn’t materialize from persuasion alone. Murkoff fired back, but Waylon and Miles had not given into the teenage penchant for carelessness; they prepared, with Mr. Upshur’s help, and when they pulled the rug out from under Murkoff, they couldn’t respond quickly enough before the next blow came.

A year and a half of constant struggle, but they did it.

Waylon might not have managed had he not taken Mr. Upshur’s suggestion to seek therapy. Of course he’d refused, not needing one more notch in his patheticness. However, his friends coaxed him into it, and Miles should have seen one too in truth, but Miles didn’t ‘roll that way’.

So Waylon got some extra help, and he handled the worst of Murkoff’s futile attempts to own him, worsen his life.

Triumph never had visited him, not like this. Tears might have stained the corner of his eyes when it was all said and done, when Murkoff dismantled, when the settlement was over for financial compensation.

Waylon never did meet Blaire’s grandpa until he was carted into a police car, and then again on the news.

They’d really done it. They survived school too, which seemed hardly a trifle after all that. Despite being part of the Murkoff drama, Waylon and Miles had essentially freed plenty of other students’ families who were quietly under the company’s thumb too.

It was the ending Miles wanted.

Well, almost.

It wasn’t until they’d finished with Murkoff did Waylon gather his friends to the grave spot of Jeremy Blaire. It was undisclosed to the public, for fear of damage, so it was all the more somber when they stood quietly, letting Miles silently have the conversations he could never have with Blaire.

Waylon didn’t know if he’d found peace, but maybe it was the closest thing to it.

That night, he’d let Miles crash at his place.

That night, he convinced Miles to pursue college with him.

It was hard to talk about their future when you didn’t know if you had one, what with Murkoff’s influence. Toward the end of it when Waylon felt it in his gut they would win but feared to voice it, he knew he’d get the opportunity to get a higher education, especially with a scholarship (earned on his own, but he wondered if his ‘status’ in the news might have affected it too). Knowing there was life beyond Murkoff renewed him in ways he didn’t know he could be.

And part of that meant to bring Miles along. They’d developed a relationship no one could label. Sarah once put it as being more than friends, but less than lovers. Waylon didn’t quite know what that meant. Because he had kissed Miles. It was one night when he felt particularly shitty, haunted by nightmares and other monsters he didn’t want to verbalize, and Murkoff a pressure on his neck the whole time.

Miles had been there, as he often was, doing that damn great thing of cheering someone up, usually because he lacked the arsenal to properly deter a breakdown. This time though, it was...more genuine, or something, and Waylon, not wanting to admit how isolated he felt that night, had stumbled against him in bed and kissed him right on the mouth.

Funny thing, Miles had kissed back.

It was a kind of kiss Waylon didn’t know someone could have. It wasn’t a kiss of a one-night stand, even a boyfriend. Miles kissed him like he knew what he felt, and that it was okay to feel like shit and do stupid things like kiss your best friend.

Waylon had slept well that night, and woke up to countless jokes by Miles that ranged from Waylon’s undying love for him, well placed mind you, to a secret inclination to acting slutty--it had been said as a compliment, really.

Either way, it seemed natural for him and Miles to set for college. He knew his friend would excel in journalism, while he hacked and cracked and worked his skills in software for a better cause in the future. He wouldn’t fuck up like last time.

It only made it much greater that all his friends wouldn’t be far apart. Waylon and Miles would be the farthest by a few cities over, and none of the others drifted out of state. The gravity between them linked them together, Waylon thought, and it seemed right to stay close. Not that anyone would openly admit it, save for Lisa, but she had that way of speaking her mind on such matters.

Her smiled had pulled Waylon through tough days too, and now encouraged him to be better as they prepped for leaving high school.

The hug she gave him on graduation told him she’d wait for him should he ever head her way.

Waylon almost did.

And he hated he knew what it was that kept him at bay in that respect.

Eddie Gluskin.

Waylon grappled with those emotions, whether he internalized them or spoke of them. Rarely he did the latter, even in therapy. His therapist told him that if he didn’t accept the rejection, intentional or not, or the reality that he had no control over Eddie, he might find peace in his life.

He’d almost stopped going at that time. He continued, taking to heart his mom and dad’s opinion on the matter. They saw how he was, and he was in a kind of pain they couldn’t help him with, and that devastated them.

Waylon kept going to the therapist. He didn’t like talking about Eddie much still.

Two years later, he would feel similarly, only less deplorable thanks to the emotional-acceptance-preceding-transferral techniques she’d taught him.

Two years later.

Waylon stared at the date in his planner for a moment, computing the significance. In so many ways, he felt the same, feeble kid who was younger than most people, and couldn’t grow a full beard. Typically he’d rely on a planner he’d install on his laptop, but his therapist, yet again full of wisdom, relayed the mental and emotional benefits writing surpassed typing in.

Three hundred and eighty two days since he and Miles moved in together into a modest apartment. Twenty-nine days since Lisa last hugged him. Four days since his last nightmare, and three since his last therapy session.

Seven hundred and seventeen days since Eddie left.


	19. Almost Easy

Waylon exhaled and lowered his pen to rub his forehead and brow. He did it often, though it failed miserably to scrub off whatever was plaguing him in that moment.

Not one clue to Eddie’s whereabouts. Waylon checked in weekly. Mr. Upshur humored him most of the time, probably because he thought Waylon’s influence was a good one for his son.

“Not again,” he told himself.

Knowing he was on the precipice of anxiety, he got up and left his room as he heard the door open. Pizza. One of Miles’ favorite. He watched Miles pay the guy and maneuvered around the couch with that charming smile of his. Waylon was glad that their ordeal hadn’t broken Miles’ ability to smile that way.

At Miles’ quirked brow, Waylon shrugged a shoulder.

“I’m done studying for today,” he explained. He snagged a couple of plates and drinks (beer for Miles, iced tea for him) before settling on the couch beside his friend.

There, he took a slice for himself, took a bite, and mindlessly looked at what was on the television.

Without preamble, he asked, “Why haven’t we had sex yet?”

The comfortable atmosphere did not take offense at Waylon’s words. Miles didn’t even look at him funny, and why should he? It was a question he’d often asked himself. During all the highs and lows following their big Murkoff reveal, no one had been closer to one another than Waylon and Miles. And then there’d been that kiss. True, it had felt like a bandaid on a gaping wound, a desperate act for each of them.

Miles didn’t attend any therapy, but he’d found his peace with letting go of Jeremy. He’d done what he would have liked to back when the guy was still alive, and it was his regret that he’d been lost before he could be saved. But it was over now. Miles had, strangely enough, found all the answers he’d promised Jeremy. Murkoff, and his murderer.

A murderer Miles still would not do the same courtesy of letting go.

“Probably because you’re a prude with a complex about a guy who left you high and dry.”

Waylon didn’t flinch at the truth, not anymore. He had to earn points for that, at least. He might have been the type to still avoid confrontation, but he didn’t feel the loser who ducked into the shadows when he should have stood up. Not anymore.

“I don’t have a complex,” he said, pitifully too. Not worth a serious response.

Taking a bite of pizza, he considered that.

“I think I haven’t been drinking because I’m worried it’ll be the only reason I need to go at it with you.”

“Geez, you’re starting to hurt my feelings, Park,” Miles sipped at his beer, but there was definitely something interested in his gaze and it followed Waylon’s every move.

“You saying I’d only be a possible lay if drunk? Wow. Wow that is rude. There’s people queuing around the block to get a piece of this and you’re dismissing me as a drunk fuck.”

Waylon’s lip twitched as he chewed. After downing part of his drink, he set his plate down and turned on the couch to look Miles over. Young adulthood matured Miles into a picture of handsomeness that oozed not just charm but sex appeal.

“No, quite the opposite. I think about it often,” he said, honesty coming naturally to him with Miles now. “My, uh, therapist says a bunch of stuff about that, but I don’t think it’s really that...profound. I’ve even seen you naked, you know? But...”

He hesitated. “I don’t think I could see us actually being...you know, together, as a couple.”

Miles certainly postured once Waylon’s eyes were roaming over him. He knew he looked good, he’d grown taller, filled out a little, there was a certain chisel to his chin that he was particularly proud of. Proud enough to shave every morning, lest someone miss the perfect quality of his jawline.

“Well, I’m not so much for the whole...couple thing. I think we should be best friends with benefits, at most, you know? I’m too young to be tied down. And you’re even younger than me.”

Miles set his beer down with a little clink.

“Besides, I’m not gonna get an undercut for you.”

Waylon laughed at that, unable to resist Miles’ way of wording things, of saying things. At least with Miles, he didn’t have to quite hide how hopeless he was in the case of Eddie Gluskin, the love of his life that had yet to wane, yet to be eclipsed by anyone else.

“You wouldn’t look good in it, really,” he said gently.

He was starting to take his therapist’s advice with more than a grain of salt. He was a virgin, and would remain so unless he overcame this fixation on Eddie Gluskin, who, for all intents and purposes, wasn’t coming back, not now of all times.

Waylon smiled a bit, sheepishly.

“I turn eighteen in two days, remember? I’ve...been thinking of my present.” His smile bloomed to a grin. “I was thinking of getting rid of this pesky virginity.”

“A birthday fuck? You know, there’s people you can pay money for that,” Miles suggested, but his gaze already told Waylon that he’d be doing the honour himself, most likely. He was the best friend, after all. Who knew if someone for hire could make Waylon feel how he deserved to, on his very own birthday?

“Okay fine, you wore me down, with your relentless begging for my dick.” Miles sighed theatrically, “But no freaky business, alright? I know you’re pretty kinky, deep down inside, but if you show up in like, a wedding dress or something, I’m walking out of this door and I’m not coming back.”

Waylon shoved Miles with his foot, going pink in the face from both the comment and the reality of having sex with Miles. It felt a long way coming, no pun intended, and if anyone was going to roll in the bed with him, he’d prefer it his best friend. After all, he didn’t get the sensation of trepidation that it would strain things between them.

“I think you’re referring to yourself,” Waylon said, almost grumbling. “I’m not...jeez, I don’t even know all that kink stuff and at least I don’t throw myself at your dick like others. But, ah,” how to word it, “is there...er...you know, a preference for how we...or rather, who does what?”

Or more like, who does who.

“Oh my god, I know you’re a virgin, but you’re really a virgin, you get me?” Miles couldn’t stop the chuckles from escaping. It was both cute and pitiful, the way Waylon didn’t seem to have even thought about it. Miles was good with either part. Sex with men to him was just a damn good time, and he’d done his own experimenting plenty already.

“Since you wouldn’t know what you’re doing with your dick in me, how I about I fuck you? I’ll make it all...sensual for you, you know, something to remember.”

“Wow, don’t mind me swoonin’ here with your romanticism,” Waylon said, face growing redder all the same. Leave it to Miles’ mouth to flow with eloquence in the matters of dicks in holes and general fucking.

But, the point was moot. Waylon wouldn’t know what to do, at least to the extent Miles could thoroughly enjoy himself as well. So he nodded and cleared his throat.

“So...it’s a date. I have a class until six but, after that, I’m free.” Would they just meet up at six on the dot and get down to it? “Should I buy anything?”

“Hell, Waylon, its your sexdate. You kinda get to decide. Maybe you want to buy candles, maybe you just wanna go out and get masses of lube. Whatever you want dude.” Miles couldn’t stop grinning after that. This wasn’t a joke to him, of course not, but the way Waylon had gone about it was absolutely ridiculous. Miles was pretty sure he would have had sex with Waylon even if he hadn’t coyly asked for it as a present. Cheapest damn birthday present Miles would ever give out.

“Jesus, fuck, Miles, no wonder you’re not date material.”

It was said in good humor, and Waylon wouldn’t have him change for anything.

**-x-**

A new kind of anticipation had crept into Waylon’s stomach, and he felt rather giddy at sporadic moments during class or working at his laptop. He began to think about what it was like, to finally step out of his comfort zone and let Miles’ hands and mouth handle him.

The more he thought, the pinker he’d get.

Their friends didn’t know about their pact, but they knew of Waylon’s birthday. Lisa had plans to visit on the weekend, along with Sarah and Alex. Simon, however, would be unavailable and, quiet as he was, drove up to see him that Friday, De-Flowering Day as it were, just a couple hours before Miles would get home.

“Hey,” Simon greeted, shrugging a shoulder in greeting. He held a bag in one hand.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Happy birthday.”

Waylon chuckled and let him in. “What’s in the bag?”

“Oh. Here.”

Simon offered it and Waylon couldn’t deny he was eager to unveil his first gift.

Well, he got the veil part right.

“Is...this a veil?”

“Funny, huh?”

Waylon looked at his friend, picking up what he could off Simon’s body language. The guy thought he had planted a great joke.

“Sorry, I...don’t get it,” Waylon said, smiling weakly. He held up the accessory, marveling at its intricacy. He didn’t know much about this stuff, but it looked fancy.

“Well, seeing as how you’re letting Miles fuck you, I figured marriage would come next. Like that song. First comes fuck, then comes marriage, then comes the baby and the baby carriage.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s ‘love’ not ‘fuck’.”

Simon shrugged.

Waylon shook his head. “Wait, Miles told you?”

“Are you surprised?”

Waylon pinched his lips tightly a moment. “No, I guess not. But we’re not getting married.”

“I know. That’s the joke.”

Right. Waylon laughed if only for the execution of Simon’s words. He was on the other end of the spectrum of Miles. Waylon liked that about him.

“Oh, and Gluskin works at a wedding shop.”

Waylon almost dropped the bag. He blinked slowly and repeated what Simon said.

“What?”

Again, Simon shrugged. “Well, it’s not Gluskin. Can’t be. Just a look-alike. Weird, right?”

Weird didn’t begin to convey what had rushed and swamped Waylon. The world had almost done that tilting thing again. Good thing for breathing exercises.

“A look-alike?”

“Yeah, I stopped by at this shop like ten, fifteen minutes away? I was gonna get you porn or something, but I got the idea the moment I drove by.”

Waylon’s heart clamored. It wasn’t Eddie, he knew that, but hope tried clawing through him again, try to uproot what he’d managed to achieve in two years.

“You okay?” Simon asked. “Never mind. You still got a thing for him. Sorry.”

“No, it’s...it’s fine.”

Simon didn’t linger long, and that served Waylon fine. He hardly remembered the few parted words they had before Simon took off. That left an hour before Miles came home, and he had to go, he just had to see, to look and tell himself it’s not Eddie, convince his mind it needed to get over it so he could move on.

Waylon didn’t have a car on his own so he had to rely on public transit, piece of shit in terms of speed, and it aggravated his anxiety. He almost flew off the bus when the stop came, and had to stumble to a stop or barge into the shop.

It was the only one in this part of town, and stood out. It was in a string of shops tailored to the upper-class citizens. Already Waylon felt out of place, but his curiosity begged him to go in.

So, he did.

Two years is a long time, considering when you have every moment of every day to yourself, everything a choice only you can influence. It can be both daunting and amazing, sometimes a little difficult, and sometimes, just plain fun.

Eddie didn’t know what freedom and fun could mean for his life, not when he’d left that late night, after the police understood the connection between victims and murderer. And Eddie had not looked back on his life. He used to be nothing more than another burden for his mother, a deadweight she had to worry about and a punching bag for his father.

He’d never been anyone before.

So this new life he’d carved for himself, not three cities over from where he’d grown up, was almost a miracle to Eddie.

He didn’t go by that name anymore. He couldn’t. Eddie Gluskin was a murderer at large, one that was sought after and hunted.This new life he carved in a corner of the world, it would never be attached to such infamy. That, he swore.

His new name was Ethan Klein, and he was a humble, self-made tailor. Or rather, he worked two jobs that entailed something of the kind. One was the shop below his tiny, one-room apartment, and it was a tailor’s shop. It did detailing, repairs and customization. Ethan was very handy with a sewing machine, and so finding a job with the old tailor couple was easy as pie for him.

Their daughter ran a bridal shop, and although Ethan didn’t immediately have interest in it, she certainly had an eye for his needlework. Soon enough, he found himself implored to work part-time in her shop too. Ethan was saving money like crazy, so a second job was perfect for his situation. The plan was, somewhere in the back of his mind, to get enough money to leave the States. Europe was a place that somehow called his name, but there was no way he wanted to go alone.

No. He had someone waiting for him. Someone who loved him, cared for him, deserved to have all of his affection and respect and love. Waylon Park still owned his heart, no matter how far apart they were.

Which, as it turned out, was not so entirely distant as Eddie-Ethan believed.

The little bell rang, announcing new customers. Eddie wasn’t the face of the store, so he just continued to sort through a nice little collection of last season’s bridesmaid dresses. He always pitied the bridesmaids, just a little. They never looked as fully ecstatic as the brides, no matter how hard they tried to be happy purely for someone else.

“Hello, hi there!” a good looking woman in her early thirties emerged to greet Waylon, dressed a casual yet elegant, short green dress and a salesman smile on her lips.

“I’m Stacie Fieldsman, owner and manager of Fieldsman Bridals,” she indicated the store around her, “how can I help you today?”

Waylon craned his head this way and that, finally settling on the woman blocking his view. He forced a smile on behalf of civility, eyes darting around as if expecting to find what he was looking for around the puff of a dress.

“Um, yeah, hi,” he said, wringing his hands together. “I’m actually just...looking for someone who might work here? Probably a big guy, like muscle-type, dark hair, bright eyes, er...good-looking?”

He considered the chances of Eddie using his real name, and decided against it.

Stacie eyed Waylon carefully, but couldn’t figure out what this young man could possibly want. He was probably a college student, he had that tousled air of youth unspent about him. But the way he glanced around? Suspicious, at worst.

“Oh, are you a friend of Ethan’s? He’s just on break. If you wait about ten minutes, he’ll be down. You’re not here to buy anything then?”

Waylon’s stomach lurched. Ethan wasn’t a far cry from Eddie. Could it be?

No.

“No, sorry,” he said, smiling again for her sake. “I just...came to see him. Literally. I won’t...interrupt or anything. Sorry again.” He almost turned away to end the conversation, then added, “It’s...been a long time since I saw...Ethan. Are you able to tell me anything about him? What he’s like, how long he’s been here?”

“Oh, he’s a sweetheart, really. He worked for my dad when he got here, new in town, didn’t even have a place to stay. He was willing to work for pennies, really. And he’s so talented. I keep saying he should go to college, make something of himself. But he’s a humble soul, our Ethan.”

Stacie seemed utterly taken with her employee, and she was willing enough to sing Ethan’s praises.

She continued, right until heavy footsteps preceded a door being opened.

“Oh Ethan! One of your old friends is here to see you!”

Ethan stopped dead in the door. He filled the frame, had grown a few inches in height and width and he looked thunderstruck.

Waylon listened as the woman spoke, dreamy-eyed almost, as though this Ethan were a kind of blessing bestowed upon her. The more she talked, the more his chest fluttered. Even before Ethan made his presence known with familiar, heavy footfalls, Waylon knew who he really was.

He stared at Eddie Gluskin.

Emotions raged at him, not giving him the benefit of peace from the shock of seeing Eddie there, alive, looking healthier than ever. He did look different enough that most people who had known him could overlook him in a crowd. It was the expression mostly. People came to expect Eddie with a forlorn face, and in this part of town he wasn’t the only big guy either.

Too much overwhelmed Waylon. How many times had he envisioned finding Eddie, or rather, being found by Eddie, and them running into each other’s arms.

He didn’t feel like running into Eddie’s arms much. With the good feelings that washed over him (relief, remembered love), the nasty ones engulfed them. He clenched a hand to his chest and marched toward the door, which meant having to skirt Eddie’s girth in order to reach it.

“Sorry for wasting your time,” he muttered to Stacie.


	20. A little Piece of Heaven

Stacie watched the whole thing with concern. It wasn’t the reunion she’d envisioned when Waylon said they were old friends. A stare between them, and not a word spoken? Whatever was happening, it was not her business. It was up to Ethan, and she looked at him pointedly.

“W...Waylon. Wait.” Eddie kind of hissed out, moving his bulk to block his old friend in. He had no idea what the man was doing here, for all he knew, he’d march his ass out of the door and to the nearest police station. Eddie couldn’t risk that, not after everything he’d built himself up in the past two years here.

“Stacie, can I-”

“Of course. Take the day off, Ethan. Not much business anyway.”

“We need to talk.” Eddie didn’t sound like he used to. There was nothing forlorn about him now.

Waylon took a step back without thinking when Eddie blocked him. His heart raced when he couldn’t leave, made all the more complicated by the setting and audience. Waylon didn’t want to talk. He wanted to go back to the apartment and remember the good times and let Miles say charming-stupid shit to cheer him up.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he whispered back, looking at the ground, at the edge of the door he could see. “I have to go.”

“You can’t.” Eddie snapped at him, and anyone would be hard-pressed to find the old affection that used to linger between them. Friendly was not a term that was befitting of the larger young man right now. Even though he let Waylon step outside, he followed him not a step behind.

When the door to the store was closed, Eddie let out an aggravated sigh.

“What are you doing here, Waylon? How did you find me?”

Waylon felt tense down to every strand of hair on his body. He’d tried to bolt, but Eddie wasn’t having it. Made sense, but sense hardly benefited Waylon’s mood right now. He tucked into an alleyway, which was still nicer than any crummy one where Waylon lived. Even the stonework was immaculate here.

He crossed his arms to restrain some of his bubbling anger.

“What _I’m_ doing here? Are you fucking _kidding_ me? You-!” He bit his tongue and shook his head, too many feelings blinding him. “That’s a real fucking treat, Eddie. I’m a student nearby,” he was whisper-shouting, though no one was crowding the streets at this time, “not the one who...who ran away from his _murders_!”

“Would you keep your fucking voice down?!” Eddie snarled, and there was nothing calm about him anymore. The cool exterior fell away and there was panic on his face, but it was a panic he’d dealt with before in those few quiet moments when he was struck by what the consequences of his actions could be.

“I meant what are you doing here. Looking for me. Are you...thinking of turning me in?” he narrowed his eyes and his gaze was ice, dangerously laced with a readiness to do whatever it took to shut Waylon up. The part of him that still looked to Waylon as a source of good in his life shied away from such thoughts, but Waylon didn’t know that. Couldn’t know that.

“That’s all behind me now. It’s done and over with. Let it rest, Waylon, and...we won’t have any problems.”

Waylon almost missed what Eddie had said. The way those bright eyes flashed at him, it hurt Waylon more than it instilled fear in him. Eddie had never looked at him before. In his wildest fantasies, and Waylon was capable of extravagance, Eddie would never have looked at him like that.

Pain deflated him, drained the harshness to his whispering.

He felt like a fucking kid about to cry.

So he tore his gaze and looked at his shoes, tucking into himself even more.

“I see,” he said, more to himself, maybe.

There was so much to say, so many questions to ask. All Waylon could focus on was that look Eddie had given him though.

“Yeah...no...no problem,” he said, and he hoped he didn’t sound as lame as he felt. It was that same voice he’d long since rid himself of, or at least thought he had, the same voice he had used with Blaire to appease him. The sarcasm he had tried to inject his words with paled under everything else.

Eddie relaxed as soon as Waylon submitted to his demand. He wouldn’t go and turn him in. No, Waylon held that much affection for him still. It took a load off of Eddie’s shoulders, enough for him to notice the way he’d been standing, and glaring. Threatening. Especially since Waylon was so much shorter than him. He took a step back, tried to ease the tension out of his jaw and shoulders.

“...Sorry...I just...had to be sure...have to be careful.” he tried for a timid smile, not sure how it would be received after such a blatant display of intimidation, “How...have you been? I...I missed you.”

Waylon slowly shook his head as he managed a weak scoff.

“Doing fucking great as you can see,” he said, tired suddenly. He sank back against the wall to catch his strength so he could leave. “I have to see a fucking therapist once a week, I have emotional issues and trouble with idealizing and letting go, and then I find you, and you look like you were going to strangle me.”

He inhaled deeply and shimmied away from Eddie a little farther, as if worried he’d be struck. Worse, he knew how pathetic he was that he couldn’t hit Eddie back even if he did.

“So yeah...living the dream.”

Eddie lifted a hand, as if he wanted to reach out and grab Waylon, to stop him from sliding out of his life. But in lieu of what his former friend said, he figured it would be a bad idea to touch the college student. His hand sank back to his side and he did his best to look as unthreatening as possible.

“I...I’m sorry, I would never hurt you, you have to believe that.”

Well, no, Waylon didn’t have to believe that, and it pained Eddie to be aware of how little Waylon could trust in him still. There were murders to his name, and his hands had snuffed out lives. More since he lived in their hometown, but Waylon did not need to know about that.

“I’m sorry for the way I left, too. But I couldn’t...I couldn’t see you...there was no time.”

Waylon couldn’t endure hearing that. He bumped his head against the wall behind him and scrubbed his face.

“Don’t. Just...don’t, Eddie. You left. You fucking _left_ , you ran away, and two years have gone by, okay? And the police have half-given up bothering with you and, and, I had to deal with all the fucking questions about our relationship, about if maybe I was involved more than they thought about those m-murders, and all the time I wondered if you were fucking _dead_ in a ditch somewhere, if you thought about me as much as I thought about you, and,” he slapped his hands on the smooth wall, satisfied at how it left his palms burning, “damn it, Eddie, I told you...n-not to and...I had to tell everyone in court everything, about y-you about...Blaire…I can’t even have a fucking relationship with anyone, can’t even think about it because...”

His words were stumbling over one another. He pushed his hands into his eyes hard, forcing emotions back and more importantly, the urge to sink into Eddie’s arms.

“Happy birthday to me,” he said, dropping his hands, looking up at the stretch of sky he could see. “I should have let Miles fuck me months ago.”

He should have expected a tirade, or a rant, anything to let Waylon’s misery of the past two years make itself known. Still, it was harsher than Eddie could have prepared for, and he let it roll over him and strike the part of him that still cared so deeply for Waylon it cried out to hold him in his arms. But Eddie could hear it in the sound of Waylon’s voice, how angry he must have been, still was, and rightly so at the friend that had up and left him after turning his life upside down.

Eddie never meant for Waylon to be caught in any crossfire, truly. And it was over now. The future he’d been dreaming of for both of them, it could happen, now, if Waylon only let go of his anger. It was so clear to Eddie.

And Waylon needed to see it too.

Maybe that’s why Eddie drowned Waylon’s slight body in an embrace, tight enough to dissuade the college student from struggling, and most of all talking. That last frustrated confession was enough to make Eddie snap, truly.

“I’m sorry Waylon. It was a mess...and it must have been hard...but you’re here now. And I’m here, and I’m free. This...you have to see it too.”

It was the greatest feeling to have Eddie hold him, claim him in that single gesture. Waylon was flooded with everything Eddie, and his struggles had tapered off quickly. It might have been for show, to say he tried to push Eddie away, more than any real intent to dislodge himself.

Either way it had him pressed against Eddie, shivers rushing through him.

Eddie spoke to a part of Waylon that no longer had merit. The one that had wanted to ride off with Eddie and live a life all their own, free from, well, everything.

“You’re not free,” he said against Eddie’s nice vest. “You’re a criminal on the run and you left me, Eddie. I wanted to get you help, and you left, and now…”

Now what? He didn’t know.

Waylon’s body sent him a different message, the way he cuddled against him, breathed his scent like it was home. It gave Eddie hope, and he had to stop himself from overwhelming Waylon with just exactly how much he’d missed him. He wanted to hold and kiss and touch Waylon, all at once, but he was too aware of needing absolute consent for such things. That was a part of him that would never be silenced.

“I don’t need help, Waylon. I only need you,” he whispered, squeezing a little tighter as he dared.

Waylon sniffed, then groaned. He shouldn’t be doing this. He had to go to the police, inform them of Eddie’s whereabouts. That was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?

Then why didn’t it feel like it was the right thing?

“Eddie, if I need help, you need it more,” he said, not even shifting away from Eddie in the slightest. “What you went through...fuck, Eddie, can’t you see anyone would need help? They were monsters, but you still killed them. That’s not...that’s not right, that’s...a sign you needed help the first time you d-did it...with...Blaire. You can’t solve your problems by...killing, Eddie. You can’t.”

“But I’m fine now,” Eddie muttered, letting his head rest on top of Waylon’s and closing his eyes. This felt more than right, it made him feel downright whole, just to have his friend right here in his arms. And Waylon lived in the same city now. They could have a fresh start, go on real dates, with nothing and no one standing in their way. No Blaire, no awful family...

“I’m fine here, and you’re here...I can...maybe I can make it up to you. You just...have to let go of the past.” Easy for a serial killer to say, one who had very well decided that killing was exactly how one solved problems. Besides, only those three back in his hometown were still an issue. No one here had caught onto what one Eddie Gluskin did when he roamed the streets at night. He’d just gotten so much better at disposing bodies.

“This...could be a new start, Waylon. We didn’t have this kind of chance back then. Don’t take this from me. From us.”

Waylon shut his eyes, hooked the instant Eddie pleaded with him. Could he really strip Eddie of this opportunity. By now, Eddie would be put in prison, and even if he got help, it would be at least a few years worth. Maybe if they could work something out beyond the walls of a prison…

“I...need to go,” he whispered, squirming. “I have...you’re asking a lot of me, Eddie, and I just...need to think. You...fuck, you didn’t come look for me and I...just...fuck, Eddie, I...I...don’t know what to do here. I’m...there’s a lot to take in. I never thought I’d see you again, Eddie.”

“Waylon...” Eddie waited until his friend stopped talking and looked up, and then decided that he needed to live in this moment, because Waylon might not give him another one. One hand softly cupped his former friend’s chin, kept it in place gently as Eddie brought their mouths together. It might be the last kiss they’d ever share, so he’d make it count for something. Eddie poured every second of missing Waylon into this kiss.

Eddie shouldn’t have kissed him; Waylon’s mouth welcomed Eddie’s as if it belonged there. Two years hadn’t blown out the flickering light Waylon felt for Eddie. It had gotten frail over the years, but it was no easier to kill.

If nothing else, Eddie knew how to tell Waylon everything he couldn’t with words. Even though Waylon broke the kiss and leaned back, the feelings carried on with him. He looked at Eddie’s gaze.

“You,” he trailed off, then licked his lips. “I...um, I really have to, I should...give you my number.”

So much for doing the right thing. But he needed to think, needed a breather though he wanted nothing but to breathe in Eddie’s scent.

Shit, his therapist was right.

Waylon drew Eddie back down for another, fiercer kiss.

There was nothing in Eddie that resisted how this was playing out. If anything, he only felt all the hungrier for Waylon’s taste. Two years had parted them, and starved him of that precious curiosity. It wasn’t just that anymore. Eddie wanted Waylon, and he would not be satisfied by the mere promise of seeing him again maybe in the future. It was an easy thing for him to lift Waylon up slightly, and from the way the college student hooked his legs around Eddie’s hips, Waylon’s mind was going in a similar direction.

Their kiss was fierce and hungry, told unsung tales of desire and loneliness they’d both known too long. Eddie didn’t care if it was the middle of the afternoon, or that they were in fact in an alley, making out like newlyweds.

The primal instinct to be fucked overpowered the logic of the way a civilized world functioned or the morals founded in it. Never mind three people (more that Waylon didn’t know of) had been killed. Eddie was doing things with his mouth Waylon didn’t think his high school sweetheart was capable of.

When Eddie lifted him with the ease of someone of his size, Waylon gasped and took Eddie’s mouth for another series of kisses, ranging from long and lazy to hard and fervor-filled.

“God, Eddie, please,” he panted, tugging at a couple of buttons peeking above the vest.

Nevermind the troubles that weighed on Waylon’s mind a second ago. Eddie took everything he needed from the greed of their kisses, from the eager way Waylon’s fingers slid over his chest once the few buttons gave way. He could only describe this feeling as hot and urgent, and there would only be one way to satisfy them both. Eddie almost groaned into Waylon’s mouth, drowned only by the way their tongues mingled as did their short breaths.

The only problem was that they were still in the alley, and there certain mechanics that Eddie was definitely aware of that would be painful without anything to aid them.

It was with the utmost effort he parted from Waylon’s lips for a moment.

“Would you like to...come upstairs?” he whispered, already fumbling for the keys to the backdoor without putting Waylon down for a second.

Waylon lost himself, and it felt long overdue. For two years he’d been restrained by his own heavy thinking or emotions, or whatever else. It didn’t matter now. Waylon took advantage of Eddie’s zeal and kept kissing him around their chatting.

“Yeah, upstairs,” he said, sounding like he would be fine and shameless doing it right here in the alley.

By the time they managed to stumble into the small apartment, Waylon had already loosened Eddie’s pants and undid most of the buttons, which was impressive given the vest or the way they pressed against each other.

He didn’t have the wit to take in the details of Eddie’s place. There had to be a bed somewhere, and Waylon was peeling off his own shirt.

There was a bed indeed, one that Waylon landed on moments after Eddie had kicked the door shut. They were only apart a few breaths, yet Eddie kissed him again as if years had lain between them once more. Clothes were coming off in jerks and perhaps a few tears too. Suddenly it just seemed like there was no time to be lost, they had to have each other now or forever hold their peace. Eddie was bare to the world first and struggled with Waylon’s stupidly well-fitting skinny jeans. Peeling them off was like taking off a layer of skin. Eddie tried to banish the thought of Waylon shedding skin. There was much more important detail to be taken in.

Such as how flushed and aroused and utterly bedazzling Waylon looked on his back, flustered and eager as his chest heaved.

Eddie would burn this picture into his head, and keep it as a treasured memory to be savoured much later on. Right now, all that mattered was that he settled between Waylon’s (finally!) naked thighs, hips pressing closer and one hand folding around both of them. It felt like an electric shock, the pleasure of finally feeling Waylon so close. Eddie trembled with his moan.

“Oh god...Waylon...” he sighed the name as his new mantra as his hand released them once more, only to fiddle around at the side for a moment before returning to pay careful attention to Waylon, now slicked and on a mission.

Waylon might have been a virgin, but that didn’t mean he was void of instinct and seeking what felt good to him. Anytime Eddie touched him or he touched Eddie felt all kinds of good, thrilling even, and they couldn’t touch enough of each other.

He’d lost count of how many kissed they’d shared, and that wasn’t including the ones Eddie trailed along his body, places not his mouth.

His first time had been scheduled with Miles, and probably would have been riddled with his nervousness and methods of pleasing his partner. Now, Waylon felt no shame or reluctance, and when Eddie stretched him, he realized he was probably going to be the loud type.

He moaned Eddie’s name in every way he could, both in delight and in begging form. Eddie was thorough. Now was not the time to consider how Eddie knew to sink his finger deeper, or when he was loose enough to stretch with two, then three fingers.

All Waylon knew was ‘more’, and, gradually, Eddie obliged.

They held each other’s gaze for a breath, and, then, years later, Eddie was inside so deeply Waylon’s back was in a constant soft curve. That meant his legs draped readily on Eddie’s hips, thighs splayed, Eddie keeping him propped up and joined.

It was not how it was planned, and that made it perfect.

“Eddie,” he exhaled, staring up at him with all the love and devotion he’d never left behind.

It wasn’t what Eddie had thought he would be doing when he woke up in this very bed this morning, but it was better than all of his daydreams combined. It was Waylon whom he was sharing himself so deeply, and that made it perfect. It felt amazing, but even more astonishing was the pleasure in his mind, the very thought that he’d waited so long to be with Waylon that pushed it all to be so much sweeter.

Eddie kept his gaze attentive, fully understanding how painful this could turn out to be if he wasn’t careful with his friend...or did this make them lovers? He liked that word better, because it implied so much more. If anyone were to ask him right now, he would guiltlessly admit to loving Waylon.

And his partner had to feel that too. In every little move, every touch, Eddie poured his love. And desire, but that was a guaranteed soothing flame that accompanied situations as such. The rhythm between them built up naturally, adjusted by each in their own manner, like a very slow dance.

Eddie’s hand gripped Waylon’s hip to steady the body beneath him, the other incessantly stroked his lover’s shoulder and neck. Eddie leaned down and rested his forehead on Waylon’s, connecting their gazes.

“I’ve always loved you, Waylon,” he whispered beneath his breath as he thrust just a little deeper and harder.

Waylon’s smile reached his eyes. It felt as though he’d worked so long for nothing, and Eddie made up for it all in that single declaration. The love radiated from his every touch, reached his expression, and Waylon felt stupid for ever thinking Eddie would actually ever hurt him.

“I love you too,” he said, reaching up and stroking the thickness of Eddie’s neck.

They shared a kiss, and Waylon’s virginity was a thing of the past, just like so much of his life.

Not Eddie though. He’d manifested out of a miracle because the statistical probability that they’d end up in the same city, granted it was a huge one, meant they were to never see each other again. Yet there they were, Eddie pulling out slow and sensually, then pounding into him that Waylon had to cling to the headboard to spare his head pain.

He took every thrust Eddie had to offer, and relished in every touch and kiss. He proved his earlier theory right; he was loud in bed. He couldn’t stop shouting curses, praising Eddie’s name, moaning, whimpering, even mewling like the kitten nickname he’d gotten long ago.

An orgasm never left him so sated, and feeling Eddie’s nudged him into the realm of bliss.

Even when it had thinned and reality pieced around them, it was still blurry. Waylon didn’t run out with half his clothes in his arms.

Not at all. He was lying there in bed, naked and under a blanket, tucked into Eddie’s arm, stroking his chest.

He inhaled the musk of Eddie’s scent lingering with sex. He got why Miles did this so often, but it couldn’t compare to doing it with the one you gave more fucks about that you were easily misplacing the whole right-versus-wrong internal debate.

Waylon kissed Eddie’s chest and traced his name on a broad chest.

“I thought not being a virgin would feel different,” he said, cheek on Eddie’s shoulder. He kissed Eddie’s chest again, this time letting his mouth draw out a little mark.

As much as Waylon relished the feeling of now knowing what sex was like, it couldn’t quite compare to the bliss Eddie felt for finally experiencing how right it could feel. For a long time, most of his life in fact, he’d never thought he could do just that with anyone at all. Sex had been dirty, a filthy, horrible punishment inflicted upon him by those that were supposed to love and protect him.

It was nothing short of a miracle that Eddie had not felt an ounce of repulsive memory come up now. And he wasn’t likely to either, not with the kind of glow and love he felt holding Waylon in his arms. This was right. This was love. And this feeling etched itself into his mind and heart, forever connected to Waylon and linked with nothing but positive emotion.

“Thank you, Waylon...” he whispered, placing more kisses on Waylon’s face. He just had that kind of adorable face that needed to be kissed at least twenty times a day. Or maybe Eddie’s head was just fuzzy post-orgasm...

“Thank you for making it feel...so good. You...you’re my first too. My first proper...time. I love you...so much, my darling Waylon...”


	21. Cry Out

Waylon breathed deeply, his hand doing the talking for him. What Eddie had endured, he couldn’t understand. It didn’t matter that he had experienced Blaire’s assault; to him, it shriveled knowing the abuse Eddie had suffered for so many years.

Allowing himself to feel the good feelings that came from this gift he’d offered Eddie. Sure, it hadn’t been packaged neatly and unwrapped meticulously. There would be another time for that kind of sexual gift-unveiling.

That meant Waylon hoped for them to have another romp.

Shit.

“I love you too, Eddie. That...is the one thing I’m sure about.”

He smoothed his hand along Eddie’s stomach.

“It’s the only thing I know of right now, Eddie.” He let the words hang uncertainly above them.

“What do we do now?” Eddie asked the inevitable as he let his hand stroke Waylon’s cheek. He couldn’t fathom that they could simply ignore each other, live in the same city without crossing their paths and lives. Love didn’t work like that and they’d just established that they both still felt very strongly about one another.

“It all depends on you, Waylon. We...we could have a second shot...we could date...but you have to leave the past behind.”

Talk about pressure. Waylon witnessed two paths branching from this very moment. Unable to see how either ended, logic and emotion grappled with one another, tangled, and left him aching to rewind to the time before Eddie ran off.

“You killed three people,” he said, exhaling long. “But I know your upbringing predisposed you to...that.”

He propped up onto an elbow to look down at Eddie. “You have to know I don’t approve of what you did, no matter what. I love you, Eddie, down to my soul. I fucking feel it. I...think you need to see someone. You can’t be...all right in the head if you’ve just gone and left without seeking therapy, you know?”

As he spoke, he smoothed his hand along Eddie’s jaw and neck, as a constant reminder of the affection he held toward him.

“I can’t do that. I can’t let....I won’t let anyone mess with my head,” Eddie’s gaze clung to Waylon’s arm, followed it until he could look into those loving and concerned eyes, “I know what I did was...would be thought of as wrong. I killed Blaire for you....and perhaps, that’s the one I should...not have. But my father and my uncle...they deserved more than prison, or any sentence. They needed to die, they were evil. I don’t regret that. It fixed me, healed me, to kill them. Sometimes, I still dream about what they did...but it doesn’t make me sick anymore. Because I know they can never hurt me or anyone else again. It gives me strength, Waylon. I don’t want anyone to take that from me.”

And he was pretty damn sure any psychiatrist worth his or her salt would most likely be on the side of murder being utterly immoral and damaging to one’s psyche.

Waylon was a sucker. Each word cottoned him up to the notion that Eddie had become better because of the ultimate violence against a person. Would the life of his father and uncle haunt him knowing they merely rotted in prison? Were they better off dead, was the world a better place because of it?

For once, Waylon could not answer absolutely and it rocked his world.

He didn’t want to know how Eddie got a new name or managed to fly under the radar. Who knew what his family was involved with. Slime collected dirt, and dirt could get you all sorts of things for the right price.

Swallowing hard, Waylon looked down at the scars slashed across Eddie’s body, scorches of where cigarettes must have been jammed into.

“I’m not an expert on this,” he said. “But...if their deaths healed you then...I need to know it’s done. No more. And if you ever even think you’d need more, that you have to...lash out, then I need to know. B-Because...I can’t. I can’t handle that.”

It was a good answer, certainly. Eddie could understand what Waylon meant, and that he craved to be rid of this topic entirely. To him, the murders were still horrendous, and he could not face a future with Eddie without sealing the past away. Eddie had no problem with that at all.

“I promise. No more. There’s no one I know that could ever make me feel as angry as I was at them,” that part was the utter truth, at least, “I promise, Waylon, I’ll be good. For you.”

Waylon sighed, though he couldn’t say he felt less stressed. Meeting Eddie was still too raw for him to simply laze in his company and pretend the last two years didn’t happen.

“A lot’s happened, Eddie, and...I don’t know if this will work.” He sat up completely to rub his eyes. “There’s...no way Miles won’t know. He’s my...he’s my best friend, Eddie. And my family. And my friends.”

Now, that was something Eddie hadn’t considered straight away. He could never again be involved in Waylon’s personal life officially. His parents would recognize Eddie, and of course, so would his friends, all of whom knew him as a murderer now.

Difficult didn’t even begin to encapsulate it.

“I...know...it won’t be easy, darling,” he muttered, stroking Waylon’s hair, “we’ll just have to be...careful. I suppose at least one of your friends is at college here with you?” he hoped to hell and high water that it wasn’t nosy, curious Miles.

Waylon continued scrubbing his face, harder now that he realized the complications of Eddie’s idealism. Realistically, how the fuck would they get away with it? Shit, Waylon was an accomplice now, wasn’t he?

“I live with Miles. He...I can’t lie to him, Eddie. You don’t know what we’ve been through together. He was always there for me. I love him in a unique way, you know? Fuck, Eddie, I was going to let him be my first.”

Jesus, if that wasn’t a doozy, he didn’t know what was.

That was not what Eddie had expected, wanted, or thought about hearing. It chilled him in a new way, to think that Miles was so very close with the young man he in fact loved. That they shared a bond deep enough for Waylon to want to sleep with Miles...

It made him jealous. And angry. He felt his grip tighten on Waylon, the more he thought about it the more the bud of hatred for Miles grew in him.

“You love him? Like...you love me? Were you going to be with him?”

Waylon felt the grip tighten, and thought little of it given his own mental preoccupations. At Eddie’s voice, however, he looked down and saw blooming anger, and the monster of jealousy.

Feeling a doofus, he moaned and rested back down, this time on Eddie’s chest, legs tangling with his...friend’s.

“There’s a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone,” he said. “Miles is my best friend. I was...going to sleep with him, but we’d never be together. Not like that. He feels the same way.”

“Well...good.” For now, the monster settled. Eddie wrapped his arms a little tighter, keeping his Waylon-Park-personal-blanket pressed to his skin. He didn’t really want to think about letting him go, it just seemed too comfortable right now.

“Well...you don’t have to do that anymore....But he lives with you, right? Do you think about him like that often?”

“Eddie, stop digging into it.” Waylon grunted, letting Eddie drape him as he saw fit, not that he could physically protest if he wanted to. It felt good to have Eddie hold him.

“But yes, we live together. There’s...no way he’s not going to know.” Maybe he should know, maybe the two of them could talk to Miles together?

“Maybe I should talk to him first. I...I can’t cut him, any of them out of my life, Eddie.” He rested his cheek back on Eddie’s chest.

“I know. They’re important to you.” Something Eddie couldn’t fathom having. A large circle of people that cared and would be willing to turn him in if it meant assuring Waylon’s safety.

Informing Miles of his whereabouts was dangerous for Eddie, at least, because that was one man who would not keep quiet about it. Eddie was quite sure that within a week, he’d be seeing Upshur stalk him. No matter if his intention was simply to protect Waylon or worse, the public, he would disrupt Eddie’s peaceful existence here.

“He won’t understand why you don’t turn me in,” he warned, still stroking through Waylon’s mussed up hair, “you have to convince him why you won’t.”

“That’s the point of talking to him,” Waylon said, the thump of Eddie’s heart calming him when he felt anything but. Talk of Eddie was a taboo, more out of Waylon’s stubbornness than it being a delicate topic overall.

Miles would be home soon too. No rest for the weary.

Waylon pushed up and kissed Eddie slowly, indulging in its length and sensuality. Eddie had a way of taking his breath out of him faster than he could replace it.

“He’s going to be home soon. I have to go.”

When he did, lower back throbbing, he cast a final glance at Eddie, wondering if the dream would vanish before his eyes.

**-x-**

By the time Miles got home, the mood for sex in the apartment had ebbed. Waylon’s hair was out of place, an ice pack fixed on his lower back as he sank into the couch. He hadn’t had time to shower, nor did he want to.

His scent alone probably gave his antics away, just as his face told Miles they had to talk.

“Waylon Park, you’re a shitty date,” Miles greeted him as he got in, acting entirely nonchalant about the state his friend was in. He hid his surprise well as he spotted the ice pack, the raggedy state of Waylon’s hair and clothes, and the scent clinging to the air.

“I didn’t know you were that desperate to finally get laid. Wanna explain to me why you couldn’t wait for my masterful seduction?”

Waylon shifted in his spot and willed his gaze to never stray from Miles. Years before he had the proclivity toward mimicking a turtle without a shell, and thus avoid eyes altogether. At the least he had smiles readily available now.

He waited until Miles had put down his precious recording device (an upgrade from his high school days).

“I found him.”


	22. Inside the Fire

“I found him.”

“Who him? Mister Right? Fucking hell, you’ve got horrible timing. Must have been a sweet meeting, if you’re cooling your ass.” Miles didn’t quite catch on to what Waylon meant exactly, since the subject of Eddie Gluskin had long since been banished from his mind.

“So the deal’s off?”

Waylon sighed and deflated fully into the couch. His head leaned back, eyes up at the ceiling now. Of course Miles didn’t quite get his meaning. They hardly spoke of Eddie, and even less of what the police were up to in regards to that. Which wasn’t much.

“It’s...him, Miles. He...still sort of got an undercut and everything.”

Miles froze dead on the spot. That was enough of a revelation for him to clue into the situation. Undercut. Him. It could only be one person, and boy, did Miles hold a grudge for him.

“Eddie fucking Gluskin? You found him?” he hissed and immediately, his stance was defensive, as if he expected Gluskin to burst out of Waylon’s room. “I hope you realize we’re going to the station. Right now.”

Waylon didn’t make a move to get up and fulfill Miles’ expectations. It had been his own as well not but a few days ago. He supposed part of him still wanted to.

“I think you know this is the part I say...I had a change of heart. I don’t think it’s the best thing to do now.”

“What? No, Waylon, fucking no! You don’t get to change your mind about a damn killer!” The anger Miles had was residue from two years of never finding closure, of never seeing justice put to Jeremy’s murderer.

“Get your fucking shoes on and take me to where he lives now. Now, Waylon!”

Waylon still shivered at confrontation. He crossed his arms to demonstrate his stand on the matter and made sure he was dead weight, as he wouldn’t past Miles to try and drag him out.

“I know he’s killed, and he...admitted Blaire was probably the one who didn’t deserve it as much as his relatives. He did it because of what Blaire did to me.” Waylon looked up at his friend, frowning. “But when I saw him...he’s not like before, Miles. I know it’s not okay to kill, but I really believe killing his uncle and dad set him free. He’s just trying to live a quiet life now and...fuck, I get I’m biased…”

He pressed his lips tightly together.

“You let him fuck you. Literally, because your head is also fucked.” Miles couldn’t believe the bullshit coming out of Waylon’s mouth. No matter how big Gluskin’s dick may be, it couldn’t be enough to convince him that letting a triple murderer walk.

“Are you seriously asking me to...what? Give you my blessing to date a fucking psychopath? Have you lost your mind? Murder is not therapy!”

The shouts struck true and Waylon offered no excuse for that. Miles was the type to expose all dirty secrets, particularly when they hit close to home, and Eddie had hit him hard at home two years ago. Waylon couldn’t allow himself to feel entirely justified for his response.

“I know it sounds crazy. Seeing him...well, no, at first I was going to go right to the station, and then...he got hold of me and as I heard him talk and heard his boss talking about him, I just…remembered all those years of abuse he took. Years, Miles, since he was a child. I barely could handle what Blaire did to me, so...”

Waylon sighed his biggest sigh yet.

“I couldn’t rip the peace he’d finally gotten. I couldn’t. It doesn’t feel right.”

“What about my peace? And his mom’s? I’m sure she wasn’t jumping up and down about sonnyboy’s new hobby either,” Miles was faltering in the face of Waylon’s determination. There was only so much pressure you could on someone who had vindicated and liberated himself from his abusers, and it was difficult to look past how righteous it must feel to a victim to kill his tormentors.

But it was still a horrendous crime, and Jeremy had nothing to do with it.

“Please...Waylon. You know he needs help with his head, at least. What do you intend to do? Just leave him to run around, doing whatever he wants to? Or are you even thinking about dating him like nothing fucking happened?”

Waylon grimaced, guilt turning his insides to rotten mush the instant Miles mentioned his own peace. They all deserved peace, didn’t they? Did Eddie earn it more because he’d never had it? Did he deserve it less for killing? Waylon didn’t have an answer for those questions.

“No, I don’t want him to do whatever. I just...if I turn him in, he’ll go to prison, and there’s no guarantee he’ll get the help he needs, not without a hell of a fight. If not, then who wins? Three people are still dead, two were monsters, and one...was on his way, but shouldn’t have been killed. And it’s partly my fault.”

Waylon pressed his lips together, considering all the avenues. None made everyone happy.

“Maybe...with some time, I can convince him to seek help and turn himself in. Right now, he’s...really antsy.” He didn’t mention the way Eddie looked at him when he suspected Waylon would go to the police. “He knows you live with me. He’s practically terrified of you, Miles.”

“He should be.” Miles growled, and it was clear as day that forgiving Eddie was not in his nature. Miles liked to think there was justice in the world. Not with the law, he knew plenty of that. But somehow, everyone got what was coming to them. Jeremy too, but what came to him was something sick in itself. Jeremy had a chance, and Eddie ripped it from him in cold blood. How was he supposed to see the creature that deserved mercy in that man? He couldn’t. Not anymore. Maybe before Eddie had committed those atrocities he thought were justice.

“He’s not good for you, Waylon. Look at all the progress you made in two years without him. And in one afternoon, he just fucking turns your head around. It’s not right. He shouldn’t be important to you anymore. I’ve been here for you all the fucking time. You and I...we’re not just friends. Don’t you fucking see that, Waylon? Don’t you understand me at all? Maybe I just haven’t made it clear for you. Well, here goes something stupid. I love you, Waylon. There. Was that clear enough for you? I love you, and I want what’s best for you. And that is not Eddie fucking Gluskin.”

A hint of a smile had started growing at Miles’ growling. His friend really could be a hound on the scent. The smile never made it to fruition. Waylon’s pallor deepened, and he looked at Miles like for the first time.

He must have heard incorrectly.

“I love you too,” he said, his voice a question. Of course he loved Miles and Miles loved him, but surely his friend was not confessing something beyond the love they had adjusted to.

He heard himself repeat what he’d said to Eddie. 

“It’s...not like you’re in love with me, though…”

Right?

Miles groaned, and he kind of wished they kept vases in their apartment because he’d sure like to smash one against the wall right now. Waylon still didn’t get it. There was question in his eyes and voice and had Miles been any other man, he would have stormed out without an explanation. As it were, he had the gracious patience to stay. For now.

“Are you an idiot, Waylon Park? That’s exactly what I mean. But I can see what you’re gonna say next. I don’t want your apology, alright? Here.” Miles took out a small, wrapped box and threw it into Waylon’s lap, not caring if he caught it or not.

“Happy fucking birthday. I’m going out.”

He turned in the door and made sure to slam it on his way.

Waylon did catch it, part in reflex and part because he didn’t want any damage to come to a gift that had come from Miles. His best friend. His best friend who felt more than what a best friend felt. 

Waylon couldn’t process that, or why he was staring at the small box in his palms. He set it down gently and followed his instinct that begged him to chase after Miles. So he did, and his pitiful jogging helped him catch up to Miles’ stomping.

“Wait!” 

He huffed but didn’t stop until he could grab the sleeve of Miles’ jacket.

“Wait, just...fuck, give me a second to breathe.” He swallowed some air and held tighter to the jacket. “Listen...I’m…”

What? Was he sorry? For what? Not being in love with Miles? Or maybe he was, and didn’t really know it, or maybe he had started to and the potential for it to bloom was all too real that it was terrifying.

Waylon shut his mind down, unable to find answers in chaos.

For now, he held onto Miles, met his eyes. He smiled a bit, then dropped it when it didn’t come out genuinely.

“You’re right, and I’m not sorry enough for it.” He looked down at Miles’ shoes, then back up at his face. “Jesus, Miles, how long-or...when…”

So, so many questions.

“Come back inside. There’s pizza. Please…”

“I told you I didn’t want to hear it. Do you ever fucking listen?” Miles’ voice was oddly fragile, and his body tense and defensive. He couldn’t bear to be in a room with Waylon right now, and even the promise of pizza was not enough to suffocate that feeling.

“Look, I just...I need some space, alright? I promise I’ll be back in the morning. We...can talk over waffles or some shit. But right now, Waylon, I need you to leave me alone.”

Waylon let him go the moment the accusation fell from Miles’ lips. Selfishness had propelled him after Miles and seek his comfort, when Miles needed the opposite. That, Waylon listened to now and he nodded both in acknowledgement and apology.

He stepped back, watching Miles go. Only after he couldn’t see his friend, he treaded back to the apartment where the box waited for him. At its size, Waylon’s careless thinking worried it was a ring, but he assuaged himself with the logic that Miles wouldn’t overwhelm him that way. He knew Waylon didn’t handle too much too well.

So he sat, back and thighs throbbing, and delicately opened his gift.

Inside was no ring, but an SD card. Waylon studied it, then dragged his laptop over.

Miles, man on the hunt, exposer of truths, was never left without a recording device of some sort. Even without the camcorder he’d have his phone prepared to snap photos or footage. Waylon shouldn’t have been surprised his gift reflected that.

It was the subject matter that kept him quiet. Years of various film shots, snippets for the most part of a greater day’s worth of coverage, had been edited it to tell a story that Waylon knew its ending to, thanks to their earlier outburst.

Time travelled through his expression, the earlier shots of him looking ghastly, a husk of a person. Had he looked so bad? The shots were mostly cast in secret, without his knowing, but Waylon felt Miles’ concern all the same. Then, gradually, them with their friends, him even smiling, the day Murkoff’s ashes scattered. 

Waylon smiled as he and Miles slung arms around each other while his mom took video feed of them before their drive up to their new apartment. There was several footage like that, but Waylon recognized a pattern. At some point Miles began sneaking his camera on his face, especially when he was smiling.

It wasn’t just a tale of their recovering, a tangible gift to see how far Waylon had come from the muck of Eddie’s disappearance. Probably inadvertently, Miles was doing the taboo, telling something about himself, of what he felt, and for his best friend.

When it was over, Waylon watched it again. And again.

Through it all, Waylon learned two truths.

Eddie loved him. Miles loved him.

Looked like drama didn’t end with high school.


	23. Move Along

Waylon slept in fits that night, mind and conscience jerked between two men he cared too deeply to hurt. Each pull threw him into a nightmare, and when he woke up for the day, it didn’t end. How was it that pleasing one meant abandoning, hurting the other?

A shallow, coward piece of him that had been tamed down to nothing but a negative voice told him he should have agreed to that first date with Lisa long ago.

Given the ungodly hour he woke up at, he was the first to the kitchen. So, he cooked.

Once a skill taught by his mom, now an exercise in serenity. His therapist told him about the healing qualities a skill could lend, and cooking had become his. He’d tried gardening once, but didn’t like getting his hands dirty.

He made waffles and whipped up a batch of a hell lot else, more for Miles’ stomach than his own. Plus, the extra cooking kept him occupied.

He still didn’t feel any certain about what he was going to do now. Talking, he decided, is what he wanted to do. He wanted to talk to Miles, sit by him, savor the heat from him.

Shit.

By the time the sweet aroma of breakfast wafted through the entire apartment, Waylon considered the worst act of becoming a hermit.

It was around 7am that the door opened once more. This time, quietly. Clearly, Miles had drank away enough of his rage to be considerate for Waylon’s potential sleep. He smelled the waffles as soon as he came in though, so he closed the door with the normal amount of careless noise.

“Couldn’t keep your feet still huh?” Miles looked rough, like he’d enjoyed a good time being dragged backwards through some bushes. Actually, to him, that might just be the case. Hair askew, jacket dirty, face smudged with god only knew what. God and whatever guy Miles had used to calm his temper and quell his needs for the night.

The kitchen table was Miles’ destination, and he didn’t say anything else as he grabbed plates on the way and then hunkered down on a chair, eyes on Waylon, expectant, but weary.

Waylon sensed it, smelled it, then saw it all play out, the misgivings of the night. God love Miles, but he had a penchant for drowning his woes. Waylon suspected he’d be tempted to do the same were it not for the counseling he got. Bullshit that Miles didn’t ‘need’ it, as he claimed.

Once Miles got his food, Waylon exhaled the breath he’d been holding and placed a damp cloth by his friend’s arm, hopefully to wipe his face. Miles looked the way he did because of him.

“You know me well,” he said, dragging a chair beside Miles. “Very well. You know me better than anyone now, Miles. And...you’re right. You’ve always been there for me.”

He looked over the state of his friend. Friend. Ever since Miles’ confession, Waylon doubted his own feelings, toward everything. All the times he’d dismissed being a couple with Miles stemmed more from what he expected of his friend than what he really wanted. He cared for Lisa, true, but something had changed in him back at their last year in high school since Murkoff. He couldn’t see himself with her anymore. The time had long passed.

“You look like shit, Miles.”

“Wow. So rude. Who the fuck have you been hanging out with, Park?” Miles sounded a little tired, and his voice was a little rough around the edges from the raw nature of his emotions, but the sarcasm came easy, smooth, and clung to his every word.

Miles wiped at his face once, twice, then threw the cloth to the sink.

“You, apparently,” Waylon said, gently and with the familiar tease he’d adjusted to using around Miles, and essentially only Miles.

He shimmied a little closer to the edge of his seat.

“The guy who’s fallen in love with a dork.” He smiled faintly. “You really mean it? I mean...it’s me. Not exactly Maxim’s Top 100 here.”

“Don’t get cocky with me, Park,” Miles’ tone warned him enough. The wound was open and raw and not quite ready to deal with Waylon’s salt. It wasn’t like Miles had planned on loving this stupid computer nerd who just fell too hard for the wrong kind of guy. Miles wasn’t much for falling into any emotional turmoil, but somehow, Waylon had wormed his way into his heart and at some point, he’d gotten to like the idea of coming home to Waylon in more ways than one. Friends were always great, but Miles knew they’d be great lovers too. And if it waned after a couple of years, they would just go right back to being best friends with blurred lines of intimacy.

All that lay in smouldering ruins now though, thanks to Eddie Gluskin.

“Miles,” Waylon hesitated, then rested his hands on the table instead of touch him. Maybe after a shower and some rest. Miles really did look like he devoted the entire night to debauchery, for the sake of unrequited love. Or, well, some kind of love Waylon knew he couldn’t grasp right now.

“I saw the footage. My present,” he said, steering the conversation to something related but not quite invasive. “It’s...wow. I don’t think I’ve gotten a nicer gift. Really. I’m not just saying that.”

Miles just gave a grunt, focusing intently on eating the labours of Waylon’s guilt. He felt stupid for having given it to Waylon now, considering how sappy he’d felt when editing the footage. A montage of their journey together, really, it was a miracle he had not called it anything cheesy. The working title had been ‘what a loser’ affectionately, and Miles had labelled the file that too. That fucking loser was really good at breaking his heart though. And he wished they could just have one conversation, and then be done with the whole damn thing.

“To be honest, I didn’t think you’d stay put and watch it. Thought you’d be at his place or something.”

Waylon felt a wince coming and rode it out. He rubbed a hand through his hair and leaned his face on his palm, sighing. Part of him had expected that too.

“Shouldn’t you be happy then? Look,” he took a deep breath in. “You said a lot last night and I wish I could ignore it or pretend you were wrong. I can’t and...there’s a lot to think about.”

He rubbed his hands together now. “What...would you do? If it was Blaire, who had gotten away with all the shit he’d done, and you found him later, happy and seeming back to his usual self?”

“Don’t you dare go down that road, Waylon,” Miles’ voice instantly became sharp and aggressive. The subject of Jeremy Blaire had been off the table for a long time, ever since Miles shared a few memories to help Waylon in one of his therapy sessions. Ever since then, they didn’t speak of him once.

“Blaire is dead because Gluskin murdered him. Like a pig. He didn’t just kill him. Jeremy doesn’t have the chance to get away because he’s fucking dead.”

Miles had never gulped down orange juice so angrily.

“And I would have watched him go to prison, attended his court sessions and visited him there, the god damn asshole. I would never in a million years cover up the shit he’s done.”

Waylon knew the answer before he’d asked it, but he had to hear it. He bathed in the sharp tone, deserving it, before he reached out, gradually, and squeezed Miles’ arm.

“Sorry. For putting you through a lot in less than twenty-four hours,” he said. He squeezed tighter. “I...better go talk to him, and...well, you’re right. You’ve always been right.”

“Wait, what?” The glass hit the table hard and Miles stared at his best friend. Who was either about to do something stupid or just made that impression at every twist and turn in their lives.

“Are you just...just like that? You agree? You’re not...going straight to him and telling him you changed your mind, are you? Don’t...don’t fucking do that. He’ll just run away again, and you’ll be a mess. Again. I can’t keep picking you up Waylon, I got my own shit to deal with.”

Miles stood up, stuffing a waffle into his mouth and taking another in hand.

“I’m coming with you.”

Waylon hopped in his seat at the burst of noise and Miles’ vigor.

“Jesus, Miles, I wasn’t going to just tell him. I wanted to talk to him, to see if--” Miles’ look shut him up. Apparently he was still the naive one out of the two of them, and seemed inclined to forget that. “Okay...you can come, but don’t...just...let me talk, okay?”

He rubbed his brow. “And can you, just, come here,” he tugged Miles’ arm toward the bathroom. “You’re a fucking mess. Take a shower. I won’t leave if you’re worried about that.”

The suspicion with which his roommate eyed him with was unjustified, but not uncalled for. Miles reluctantly let himself be towed towards the bathroom and grumbled all the way through taking his shower. He wordlessly accepted the clothes Waylon handed him through the crack of the door before he emerged anew, looking not much different than ten minutes ago. Only cleaner and with fluffier, blown-dry hair.

“Let’s go.”

**-x-**

Waylon relied, down to his soul, on the breathing techniques he’d acquired during the course of Murkoff and murder and abuse. Panic never died out. It was there, leering, creeping for a moment such as now. Breathing kept it from overtaking him, but not by much.

He didn’t remember the walk to Eddie’s place, but felt the wood of the door as he knocked so vividly it thrust him back into the reality. Back at Eddie’s, with Miles, who he told to keep at least five feet behind him.

“Eddie,” he called as he knocked.

It was early in the morning, so damn early Eddie had in fact been asleep when Waylon came a-knocking, but his voice was enough motivation to get the young man out of bed. Back so soon? That could only imply Waylon had spent the night as restless and excited as Eddie, probably.

“Waylon, you can’t call me that, people-”

Eddie stopped dead at the sight of Miles behind Waylon, like a malicious shadow with better hair and a murderous glare. Suddenly, Eddie felt like his skin would like to melt off of his bones rather than be exposed to that unadulterated anger.

“Hello motherfucker.” Miles stepped around Waylon and there was no way anyone or anything could stop him from punching Eddie right in the face, which, granted, exploded pain in his knuckles, the man’s jaw must be lined with steel, but damn, it felt good. Miles waved and held his hand, hissing his pain as Eddie had stumbled back with surprise.

Waylon had no power or the force to stop the violence, probably well earned. Before he processed it, he was rushing to Eddie’s side, and presenting himself as an obstacle should Miles have the urge to do it again.

He had gotten one in. Waylon couldn’t be entirely angry, but protective, yes.

“Jesus, fuck, Miles!” Waylon touched Eddie’s jaw, then hissed. “Stay back! You got your punch in so...don’t get close.”

He gripped Eddie’s arm and focused on the now bruised tailor.

“Shit...I can’t say sorry enough, Eddie, but...relax. We need to talk. Please. For me. For you.”

Eddie kind of wished he’d put on a shirt for this. He had not expected any early morning punches along with his visit. He rubbed his sore jaw, keeping his eyes on Miles even as Waylon clung to his side. If the guy wanted a fight, he would find himself overpowered by his opponent. Miles Upshur had never been a particularly big guy, and although he was fast and fought dirty, Eddie had the instincts of a killer. He would not stop because he’d think he hurt his opponent too much. No, if Miles wanted a fight, Eddie could and possibly would kill him.

“Why did you bring him here?” he finally turned to Waylon, accusation and doubt in his voice, “Now he knows where I live...”

“You’re damn right I do. But don’t worry, pal, you won’t live here all that much longer. You fucking psycho.” Miles was being his helpful self as usual.

“Miles, shut the fuck up!”

Waylon, not one for cursing brought upon by the kind of anger he felt right now, relied on it now. Rather, it surprised him he was capable of sounding so fierce, but Miles had that ability to leave him feeling exasperated. Miles had a mouth on him even he couldn’t tame.

To Eddie, he softened up.

“Because he would have just followed me anyway,” he said. He studied Eddie’s face, smiled weakly. “It’s good to see you.”

He leaned up and embraced Eddie tightly, silently pleased the marks on Eddie’s back and chest were of his doing this time.

“Eddie, the happy ending we wanted...it can’t really work...not like this. A life looking over your shoulder isn’t a life. You deserve better than that. We all do…”

Eddie didn’t hesitate to hug Waylon back, but he still returned Miles’ glare over his shoulder.

“Can we not do this here? Please? At least come inside,” he paused for a moment, grinding his teeth as if it pained him to continue, “both of you.”

Miles muttered something about the lion’s den but he followed Eddie, who carried Waylon up to his apartment more or less. Once that door was firmly closed, Eddie released Waylon in favour of finding a shirt to casually drape over himself.

“Nice place. Got any bodies under the floor?”

Eddie sneered at Miles’ sarcasm. He really couldn’t be bothered with the snide remarks.

“Would be a stupid place to put them, Upshur. You’re thinking too small.”

“Both of you!” Waylon was a tantrum away from stomping his foot, preferably on both their feet to shut them up. Their hatred permeated the air, leaving a bad taste in the back of Walyon’s tongue.

These two really loved him? He wondered how someone with love could extend such hate.

“We’re not here to play ‘who is more macho or witty’ okay? This...is a serious talk.” Waylon hadn’t minded being half-carried, and now he sat beside Eddie, cupping a hand over a strong knee. “I know this isn’t easy to deal with…”

He didn’t know how to put it. Already his heart was hurting, so he sank closer against Eddie, thumb stroking.

“You...grew up in an unfair home, Eddie. I won’t ever understand it. Things, filthy and wrong, were done to you. A lot of wrong was done to you.” The free hand came to Eddie’s face. “But Eddie...you have the chance to do the right thing now, to show you’re not just another cog in the cycle.”

“Not this again,” Eddie groaned, and for once, he didn’t sound like he wanted to hear what Waylon was saying. And it was true, he did not. He liked his life. He liked being Ethan. He didn’t want that to change. Why couldn’t he be Ethan Klein, and date Waylon properly, and for once have some semblance of normalcy about his life.

“I’m not going to prison, Waylon. I can’t...I won’t.”

“Of course not. God forbid you should live with the consequences of what you’ve done, you sick bastard!” Miles wanted to try for another punch, but held himself by the window, glaring fiercely.

Waylon breathed in deeply and scrubbed his brows to spare himself more shouting. Neither of them were helping, but it was just as so. They had their reasons, and Waylon had emotions whirling through him, doing that jerk and tug thing again.

“It, listen, Eddie, we could get them to go to a special place, a place that would help you with what you grew up with. Do you think I want to see you leave? I feel like I’m dying inside because I can’t give you the peace you want, not like this, because I couldn’t live with myself…”

He leaned his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “The last two years have been too much. I couldn’t make it all for nothing. If I let you just...go about your way without consequence for what happened to Blaire...then I don’t think I could say I truly cared for you. A person who loves you tells you the things hardest to hear.”

Here, he thought of Miles, but the topic of Miles and love were not up on Eddie’s table, at all.

“Why...why did you change your mind? You were alright with it yesterday, you wanted nothing more than to be with me yesterday...Waylon, please...they’ll lock me up. You don’t honestly think anyone would be interested in helping me...an asylum is just as much a prison, just with more dangerous inmates.” Eddie gripped Waylon’s hand, and his voice was pleading.

“He fucking got a clue, Gluskin!” Miles came closer now, and the way he approached Eddie had the tailor rise to his feet, standing before Waylon so that the rage suffusing Miles would not touch his beloved. Call it a habit of Eddie’s to protect what he loved with his own body, to take punishment (no matter if justified or not) in lieu of others.

“When he got off of your dick, his brain turned back on. You killed people! You don’t even regret it, do you?! If you did, you’d have turned yourself in. But you ran. You ran away from what you did, from Waylon, from everything, even your mother and sister. You’re a fucking coward and exactly the same kind of sick bastard as your dad!”

Miles didn’t just overstep boundaries, he made an olympic gold-medal sprint across them.

Eddie’s anger paled to horror and his face took on a distinctly green pallour, before it was replaced by putrid hatred.

Some mistakes couldn’t be seen as one until much later in the future. Waylon was suspecting this was one of those times, because Miles stooped low and the look on Eddie’s face had Waylon rush forward and stand between them, hand on Eddie’s chest.

“That’s not fair, Miles,” he said, hard, but not as hard as he could have. “They’re not the same. Eddie’s...they were monsters, once human and turned fucking sick and twisted.” He was looking at Eddie now. “And I wish it wasn’t like this. Of course a part of me still wants to just be carted off with you where no one can find us, but that part of me is...just a voice, and I can’t abandon those I love. I’d help you, Eddie, make sure you’re taken care of until you can come out, after you’ve...done what you had to do for taking Blaire’s life the way you did. His death is my fault too, you know.”

“Waylon...” Eddie looked down at his friend, his love, the very man who was telling him there was no escaping justice for his crime. And it hurt, in a way Eddie didn’t think Waylon could ever hurt him, not when he’d been the only shining light in his life for such a long time.

“Waylon, please, don’t...don’t send me away, they...they won’t let me back out and I’ll...I don’t know what I’d do...”

“For one you can stop wailing like a baby and face what you deserve with some dignity.” Miles growled from the other side, still ready as ever to pick that fight. He couldn’t understand what Waylon saw in this man. Gluskin was pitiful and sure, part of the reason for it was his upbringing, but Miles couldn’t bring himself to feel more than an ounce of pity for the child Gluskin had been once upon a time. The man deserved no such loose scrutiny.

“Can’t you understand that Waylon wants to fucking help you? You’re going to jail. Or an asylum. Do your fucking time.”

“It’ll be life.” Eddie muttered, before he eyed the door. Strictly speaking, they couldn’t stop him from making another run for it.

It could be life. They didn’t know what would come of a trial, or a plea deal. Waylon’s knees almost buckled at the possibility of not being able to touch Eddie like this, warranted maybe one hug before coming and going in prison.

“I don’t want you to go,” he admitted to Eddie, taking his hands. “What I want is for you to be happy and have a quiet life, and as awful as Blaire was, he needs peace too, and the people who love him. I can’t be selfish, Eddie.”

His eyes conveyed the desperation he couldn’t voice. How badly he ached for Eddie to find a niche of peace, away from people who wouldn’t understand his pain or wouldn’t see it as the impetus for what he’d done.

“I want you to be happy,” he whispered, “and I don’t think I’ve felt worse than I do now because I can’t give that to you, not like this. It’d mean looking over my shoulder too, wouldn’t it? It’d mean...so much more…”

“Waylon...I can’t...” Eddie grabbed his younger friend, wrapping him into a tight embrace and burying his head against his shoulder. All he wanted to do was date Waylon, watch him smile, hear him laugh and whisper sweet love confessions to him. All he wanted was a home with his shining light and love, a quiet life that no one could take from them. That wasn’t in his future. Right now, Waylon was making it his business to make sure that future was out of reach. Ethan Klein’s life was over, and he would be back to being stuck as Eddie Gluskin, runaway murderer.

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t Waylon who ruined their chance at a new, happy life together. But Eddie had never dealt well with blame, despite the misconstrued way he experienced punishments. Perhaps even exactly because of that did he rarely place blame within the realms of his own doings.

“I can’t do it, Waylon. I’d rather live free and never see you again than be locked up and waste away for you to watch.”

Miles placed himself in line of the door and plucked out his phone, eyes narrowed as he dialled someone he clearly had on the first position of his contacts.

“You’re not fucking running. And that was one shitty, selfish thing to say, Gluskin. Waylon fucking loves you. You ungrateful bastard, and you’d leave him? I can’t wait until you get what you deserve.”

Maybe it was selfish, but Waylon didn’t have the mental equipment and maturity of this situation to think over it. Instead, he embraced Eddie back, hard, pressing his face into his neck, savoring what might be the last time he saw Eddie.

His heart crumbled, and he felt every piece clattering into his feet.

“Eddie,” he whispered, and who knew what the squeeze to Eddie’s arm was. Was it a warning to stay and do the right thing? Was it a nudge for Eddie to get the fuck out of there while he still could? Waylon would never know, but he knew he poured every bit of himself in the simple act.

Miles could throw accusations and stand at the door all he wanted. He couldn’t compare to Eddie’s power and girth when it came down to it.

“I’m so sorry again. I feel like all I can do is apologize,” he said, kissing Eddie’s neck. “I want you happy. I meant it. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Waylon...” Eddie sounded tortured, but he didn’t let his voice linger, instead suffocating Waylon in a kiss that tried to convey everything he felt and yet said nothing at all. Miles made a little wretch noise, though it wasn’t voluntary.

“I love you,” Eddie insisted one more time, pressing Waylon for the last time before he gently shoved him aside and made for the door with the power and charge of a freight train. One that would not be stopped by the likes of a Miles Upshur barrier. Waylon’s best friend went sprawling across the apartment, truly airborne for half a second.

“God fucking damn it don’t throw me around like a fucking styrofoam prop!” Miles shouted as he got his flailing limbs in order and pressed the phone to his ear, bolting down the stairs.

On the street, Eddie was just kicking his motorbike into action, leaving Miles in a cloud of dust that had him choke for a moment.

There was no stopping Eddie Gluskin, and Waylon didn’t pretend he could try. Maybe it was for the better that way. His pleas didn’t reach the need Eddie had for freedom. A life within a prison of abuse could do that to you, and maybe Waylon had no right to decide on his behalf.

He staggered after Miles, and was last to see the bike shrink to a dot in the distance.

Eddie Gluskin was gone, just like that, again.


	24. Wo bist Du

Of course the cops came, starved for the lead. Waylon spent his post-birthday date in a station, answering questions, conveniently leaving out the romp he and Eddie had shared. Guilt gnawed at him for keeping it a secret, suddenly terrified he’d be put in jail for being fucked by a murderer.

Fuck his life was just getting better.

They didn’t charge him with anything, but his paranoia gave him enough punishment.

By the time both he and Miles were coming back to their apartment, they both had looked better and seen better days. Waylon had ordered pizza to be delivered and collapsed onto the couch, hand on his head. Maybe nothing would fall out if he kept his head in one position.

“Fuck,” he said. He thought it captured the latest events well.

Miles went straight to the cabinet that housed his most precious collection of alcohol and poured himself a very full glass of scotch. How the hell he was going to deal with his hangover tomorrow would be absolutely irrelevant. He couldn’t believe Gluskin was gone, again.

And Waylon.

Waylon had let it happen. Though physically impossible, there were ways of stopping Gluskin’s escape. But Waylon had done nothing to discourage him, hadn’t even used guilt as a weapon.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Miles asked darkly, not inclined to be nice to Waylon for the foreseeable time.

Waylon didn’t have anything in him to bite back at Miles right then and there. He was focused on quelling the pounding in his head. He’d grab the painkillers were he not so exhausted, mentally and physically. Emotionally.

“He was going to run,” Waylon said, closing his eyes. “I knew it a few minutes in. It didn’t matter what I said.” He bit his tongue to stop the tears from prickling his eyes. “He values his freedom more than seeing me, even through plate glass.”

He didn’t doubt Eddie’s love for him, but that didn’t make the sting of reality any less the pain it was. He didn’t even have the voice to sound like he wanted to pick a fight with Miles, or even blame him for what he’d said to Eddie.

“Shit.” Miles didn’t sip the scotch, he gulped it down, ignoring the bite of it in his throat. He hated everything about Eddie Gluskin right now, and he felt utterly righteous in his hatred. Just looking at how pathetic Waylon was right there would be a perfect justification of why hating Gluskin was acceptable and preferable.

“Shit. I hope they catch him. I really do. But...fuck, Waylon, you have to give up on him now. Please tell me this whole fucked up day hasn’t been entirely for nothing. He doesn’t deserve your kindness, or your love.”

Waylon chuckled, wiping his eyes though there weren’t any tears there. Time didn’t change your essence, and, diluted to his essence, Waylon Park was a sap, over coddled and showered with affection that anything but made him anxious.

This though? This was a new level of emotional weariness.

He sniffed, and looked over at Miles with effort. He cracked a smile at Miles’ words. They couldn’t heal him, but they cheered him up somehow.

“I’m really glad you’re here, Miles. I don’t know how I’d,” he inhaled deeply, “how I got through a lot of stuff if you hadn’t been there.”

“Don’t go soft on me right now. I can’t take it.” Miles deposited another glass of scotch, this time in front of Waylon.

“Besides. You aren’t glad it’s me who’s always got your back. You’d rather have Gluskin here and me lost in the world. Don’t fight it. I know it’s true. You fucking love him and I got the message. I don’t have a chance.”

Now, Waylon groaned and, head throbbing or not, he pushed off. Not for long, he stood up partly, just enough to tug Miles hard and use the momentum to make him sprawl on the spot beside him on the couch.

“You can be an idiot sometimes, Miles,” Waylon said, saddling up beside him, remote in hand. “Just shut up, okay?”

He turned the television on, on any channel that wasn’t news. He glanced at his friend, then took the drink from him to have a sip, though it made him cringe. He gasped and handed it back.

“Just shut up and watch T.V. with me.”

Grumbling and muttering was his reward and Miles did a good job of saying nothing for the rest of the night. And of getting Waylon slowly but surely very drunk.

**-x-**

“Waylon. Waylon. WAYLON!”

Miles waved a hand in front of his friend’s face. It was nothing new that the young man spaced out in front of his laptop and was lost to the world around him, but today it took him extraordinarily long to respond.

“Your boyfriend’s on TV. You’re gonna wanna see this.”

Weeks hadn’t been kind nor cruel to Waylon. Life rolled on without him, indifferent to his misery, or how drunk he’d gotten the night Eddie left again. Then there was the whole deal of telling his family and friends, and their support honestly suffocated him. Good intentions, or not. He was tired of pats and pity.

Thank goodness for Miles, who warded them off when Waylon needed it.

They didn’t really talk about Eddie leaving the way he did, nor the childish way Waylon had whined (drunkenly) for Miles to get into bed with him that night, worried of nightmares.

He’d fallen asleep holding Miles’ hand, and he’d felt safe enough to sleep. And then wake up vomiting in a toilet.

Eleven weeks later, he wasn’t daring to drink ever again, but he appreciated Miles all the same. He did what he could to show it, and some nights it felt like things were back to normal. Tonight felt like one of those, Waylon working at his laptop, and Miles doing whatever the hell he did when Waylon wasn’t keeping tabs on him.

He blinked at the hand obstructing his view and glared.

“What?” He waited for Miles to repeat himself.

He paled and tore off the table and went to the couch, eyes on the screen.

“And what made you do that, Mr Gluskin?”

The reporter standing next to Eddie smiled at him slightly, pressing the microphone to Eddie’s face in hopes for a good response. The caption that ran below her read that a single man had found and intervened in a child sex ring event that turned into a violent confrontation which left two dead and six arrested. Eddie being one of them, judging by the handcuffs on his wrists.

He did look nervous though, nervous and tired with his lip bust up. He even lisped his answers slightly.

“I had...to do something. They...they all knew it was happening. They were afraid. I’m not. I won’t stand by and let monsters like that hurt children. Or anyone.” Eddie took the mic and stared into the camera, icy eyes livid with sated anger, “I would hunt down and kill every single man who harms children. I swear it.”

The reporter looked adequately uncomfortable and tugged the mic back into her own hand.

“Uh...well, I can see you’re passionate about justice being done, Mr Gluskin. But what brought you here in the first place? Can you describe what happened before you entered the basement?”

“Fuck me sideways,” Waylon breathed, tongue quoting one of Miles’ poetic curses.

That was Eddie, massive still, and looking otherwise comfortable given the fact he sported cuffs now. Did he understand he was arrested? It didn’t matter. Eddie had killed again. That didn’t escape Waylon.

He collapsed back into the couch, watching the scene unfold.

“Shit.” He bolted up in a paroxysm of desperation, snatching at jacket, keys, and phone. “I need to go there. Shit, driving would take longer. Maybe a flight?”

He rushed to his laptop.

Miles didn’t even leave his calm mood, simply sipping his drink and cooly staring at Eddie on TV. He didn’t attempt to stop Waylon, knew it was useless to even try. What good was it to keep an addict from his substance, if the substance controlled him to the point of insanity? Because Waylon’s addiction to Eddie Gluskin was definitely insanity.

Miles only hoped that Eddie would be incarcerated there, and not be dragged back to Colorado.

“When you get there, tell him he looks good in handcuffs. I bet he’s gonna have a good time in prison.”

“Always the ass with the mouth, aren’t you?” Waylon muttered, allowing himself to feel irritated with Miles, just as Miles could grow irritated with him. Eddie was that kind of topic, which was fine. Waylon didn’t expect Miles to understand his feelings, though they parallelled that of Miles and Blaire’s relationship, in a way.

Of course Blaire was not up for discussion and Miles not one for mushiness. Even his love confession proved that. That hadn’t made him any less a friend to Waylon, and it was a sacred tool, no matter how dulled it got wit the last few weeks, that Waylon would cherish and never use against Miles.

Even if he wanted to in a fit of frustration. Like now.

“There aren’t any flights until tomorrow. Fucking weather.” Well, that would give him time to request time off from work and school. He’d been offered a semester postponed given his involvement with the Gluskin case, which he denied. Last thing he needed was more time to think about it.

He bought his ticket then glanced at Miles, then back at the screen.

“Looks like you got your wish.”

It hurt, but, statistically, someone had to.

“It’s only three years late, but yeah.” Miles didn’t even have it in him to sound anything but smug. He was a bitter man with a bitter heart and for once, the world had done right by him.

“Looks like he broke yet another promise to you,” Miles didn’t pursue that argument though. He was done arguing with Waylon about Eddie Gluskin. It was down to his friend to pull himself out of the downward spiral that came with that man. Miles had given up on helping Waylon in that aspect.

“Looks like your blue balls will be a continued condition. Don’t come begging to me when you’re dying for a fuck, Park.”

Waylon got up, but no bite met Miles, nor snide. Instead, he sat right beside his closest friend, and smiled at him. It was on advantage he had to being a sucker for the mushy things; it put Miles on tilt when he wasn’t expecting it.

He was fine with Miles not getting it. He didn’t even tell him that when it was Blaire, Miles obsessed to, just never saw it.

“I’ll let you know when I get there safely so you don’t try to rent out my room,” he said, and engulfed Miles in a hard embrace that would require even a little effort from the wannabe journalist. “I’ll come back sane. I promise.”

Miles gave a gruff snort, using one arm to pat Waylon on the back. He doubted those words, no matter how sincerely Waylon spoke them. Things were never that easy with this whole Gluskin debacle. Briefly, Miles tried to remember if the state Gluskin had been caught him had authority to warrant a death penalty, but that thought was quickly shoved aside. He might hate the guy, but he was far from wanting anyone dead.

“You’re an idiot for going. You can’t kiss him through glass.” he muttered into Waylon’s shoulder.


	25. So klingt Liebe

The flight was short, Eddie having been caught up somewhere in the north of Idaho. Seeing him was, however, a problem. Not just anyone could walk into the facility that kept society safe from people on the brink such as Eddie Gluskin. Of course he’d been identified, the police in Colorado still very aware of their runaway killer.

And killer he was, with the media attention to boot. Worse, people flocked in support of Eddie’s wrath of justice. Waylon hadn’t expected that and had to marvel at how many people rallied. After all, those that hurt children were the filthiest of the underbelly, so much so that even fellow murderers and other prisoners sought to punish them when guards weren’t looking, or looking the other way purposely.

Waylon gave Miles a call as soon as he got into his hotel room,and that renewed his energy from the flight to get to work. It wasn’t easy, and took two full days, and that was with Miles’ dad pulling a little leverage on his behalf. Waylon didn’t ask why he agreed to help him, but he had sighed and obliged all the same.

So Waylon found himself weaving through bodies until he was granted access. Background had been checked, forms filed, favors called, and then he was being patted down by a guard.

Another kept his items and yet another guided him to a sad room with windows in a cubicle placed in intervals. There were two people already there, chatting with men in orange suits. Soon Waylon would join them.

He nodded his thanks after the guard explained the rules.

“Does...he know I’m here?”

The guard told him no.

Waylon sat at his pathetic cubicle, a phone attached to the right wall protruding out to block fellow visitors from seeing or hearing his conversation.

He looked through the glass and waited, heart hammering.

Eddie was brought in, after letting Waylon wait a lengthy amount of time. His hands were cuffed, but not too tight to take the receiver. He stared at the glass, before a wide smile broke out on his face. He cradled the receiver as if it was Waylon’s face, tenderly.

“Hello Waylon,” he breathed, voice both dark and smooth as he smiled brightly at the window.

Waylon heard Eddie coming before he saw him, his steps heavier somehow within thick walls. Even in a jumpsuit he looked good, but not as beautiful when he smiled. Eddie was in prison and could still smile.

“Eddie.” Waylon pressed his fingertips to the window. “It’s...good to see you, though the place isn’t ideal. I thought about you everyday, wondering if you were okay. Jesus, Eddie. What happened?”

“I’m a hero, Waylon,” Eddie didn’t sound agitated or anything at all, in fact, he looked all the more relaxed for being in prison. His voice had a dreamlike quality to it, and he leaned forward.

“I saved them. I saved all of the little ones, Waylon. They were doing...going to do filthy things to them. But I saved them. And the others in here...they know that. They call me a hero.” 

“You killed more people, Eddie,” Waylon said. “Two more people are dead…”

He flattened his palm, aching to touch Eddie. It didn’t matter if two people were dead; children have been spared a dark fate because of Eddie, and plenty people outside voiced for millions more who saw that. Waylon was glad for the children, but he wasn’t as naive as he was anymore. 

Eddie had killed again, on purpose.

“You took lives, Eddie...they should have been punished by the law, and now you’re in here...in this fucking prison because of it.”

“They deserved it.” Eddie nodded once or twice, then went back to staring at Waylon through the glass. 

“You’re angry I did it. I can understand that. I promised to you I wouldn’t kill anymore...” Eddie sighed, lifted his hand enough to make an apologetic gesture, “I guess I just can’t stand by and watch six grown men try to fuck little kids. Sorry Waylon. Next time I’ll just wait for the police to come and fail, just like with me, shall I? I’ll watch them drive away to leave those bastards’ hands around the children’s necks. You know they’re getting me a lawyer? All those people out there, yelling my name...”

Eddie seemed to have adapted quickly to his role, and it was one he enjoyed to a degree.

“You didn’t have to kill them,” Waylon pressed, despite the futile attempt it was to convince Eddie otherwise. 

Weeks before, he might have had an impression on Eddie in that matter, but now, with the roar of the crowds and the way the other inmates must be treating Eddie, Waylon’s protests were dwarfed. 

“You broke your promise to me,” he said, lowering his gaze to the hand he couldn’t touch. He sighed. “Yeah, I heard they’re working to get you a famous defender. She takes big cases like this. They might offer you a short time in a hospital instead of prison…”

He looked back up at Eddie’s eyes. 

“In which case I will take it,” Eddie was different, and perhaps, that was a good thing. He looked at Waylon so calmly, not like it bothered him to be cuffed and dressed in hideous orange at all. In fact, there was a peace about him as he let his hand fall back away from the glass.

“I’m sorry I had to break my promise, Waylon. I really am. But I think...I’m ready for help now. I know I didn’t have to kill them, I didn’t even know how bad they were. But...it felt good. And...I know it shouldn’t feel good to take lives.”

At that, Waylon relaxed. He pressed harder against the glass.

“I want to believe that, Eddie, I really do. But I can’t rely on words anymore.” He hated that cracking thing his voice was doing. He breathed deeply to assuage the worst of it. “I can’t keep doing this, Eddie. Being pushed away from you, not knowing where you are, if you’ll die tonight, if you’ll pop up in my life again when I was doing okay. My therapist doesn’t even think I should be here right now…”

He exhaled and rubbed his forehead before resting his hand back on the glass, fingertips only.

“If you go to a hospital, you have to prove you want help, because they won’t let me see you, not right away and I won’t, until I know you’re serious.” He tapped his fingers on the window. “I love you, Eddie, but I can’t rot away waiting for you if you’re not...Ready.”

Eddie didn’t hesitate to press his fingertips against the glass on the other side, though it proved a hassle to also juggle the phone in his cuffed right hand. He sort of had to lean forward awkwardly, the receiver pressed to his ear.

“What does that mean, Waylon? You...you’re gonna wait for me, right? You’ll be there if I get out?” he stared into Waylon’s eyes, searched for a hint as to what was going on in his head.

“You’re gonna...are you leaving me for Miles? Because he’s there?” it was a hiss now and his expression quite ugly. Jealous.

Waylon chuckled, the sound void of mirth for the most part. He shook his head and matched his hand against Eddie’s larger one.

“Miles is there for me, but that’s not what I mean. I’m saying is I can’t be there if you if you...value this kind of justice more than me, than us. So if you mean you’ll take the deal seriously,” he took in a long breath, “then I’ll be there every step of the way, Eddie. Reasonably. I can’t obsess over you anymore like before. Like when we were in school…”

At the memories he smiled. “I want to take you to a movie your first time out. But I mean it, Eddie. You getting help is important and it’s...it’s not going to be easy, and it’s not going to happen fast. Remember what I said a long time ago? I can’t give you that help, but I’ll give you my hand to hold during it.”

He contemplated it. Really, did he have a choice here? Waylon was setting a sort of ultimatum, and it was based on his willingness to give up what made him feel righteous for what he wanted so badly in his life. Waylon. Would getting his head shrunk really make the younger man happy? And how happy could that be? He knew the darker sides of Eddie now, and maybe he was frightened by it. Maybe his love was waning, and it would be near extinct by the time Eddie made it out of the ‘help’ Waylon so wanted for him.

But he had to try, didn’t he?

“Okay. Alright. I’ll...I’ll be serious about it.” Eddie paused, not sure if words were enough even though it was all he could give right now, “Are you still living...there? Same place? Could you do me one favour?” he didn’t wait for Waylon to answer, “Could you go tell Stacie that I’m...really sorry, and that she can have my sketchbook? I owe her so much...she can have all of my designs.”

Waylon’s smile bloomed a little more. His fingers dragged up the window, resting in the vicinity of Eddie’s face. 

“Yeah, I can do that. No problem.” He leaned a little forward, searching Eddie’s gaze. “I missed you, Eddie. So fucking much. I never...no matter what anyone told me, I couldn’t change what I felt for you. I still feel it like that first time.”

“That first time?” Eddie’s smile grew a little wider as he remembered their reunion just like it was yesterday. He couldn’t stop picturing Waylon naked now, even though the glass separated them very firmly. He pressed himself a little closer.

“I remember our first time too,” he couldn’t deny the grin any longer, “I’ll miss you...so much, every day and night. But I’ll get better. And when I get out...”

Waylon felt a little more human again, enough that he went pink in the cheeks slightly. How often he dreamt of Eddie above him, between his legs? Enough that he woke up needing a cold shower, that was for sure.

Waylon didn’t let his hope get away from him, not this time.

“Don’t rush it. I’ll be around, but you need all the time you can take for yourself. Just...I know you love me, but don’t do this for me. Do it for you, because, damn it, Eddie, you should know that you deserve it, and that you can have a life out of this fucking place. A life...with me.”

“Yeah...what kind of house do you want?” Eddie seemed perfectly happy to live in a dreamworld for now, one that included Waylon, a common, shared bed and happiness. He didn’t want to think of the fact there were at least five known bodies to his name. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he didn’t get out.

They chatted about the most irrelevant of things, a house, a family, a dream. Right up until the guard came to take Eddie back to the hellhole that would be his home for now.

“Ah, Waylon, when you go to see Stacie. Ask her to let you into my apartment, and look in the second drawer of my bedside table. It’s for you.”

In love or not, guards had duties to do, including telling Walyon to wrap it up. He took it in good stride, grateful he could talk to Eddie and, at least, knew tonight he wouldn’t be running for his life. And though it wasn’t ideal, he was in a place where he was revered. 

Another moment of irony not being lost on Waylon. The place Eddie feared was where he was most welcomed, for now. Waylon pressed his hand to the glass one final time before he left, agreeing to check out Eddie’s apartment, and to get himself cleared to send him letters until the time Eddie might be taken to a hospital.

He was able to sleep on the flight back.


	26. Remenissions

Of course Miles didn’t appreciate anyone praising Eddie, but he had nothing in his arsenal but bitching and moaning. It didn’t last too long though, and Waylon never knew if it was because Miles sensed his better mood, and liked the way it renewed Waylon’s passion for cooking meals.

They didn’t discuss Eddie much and Waylon didn’t intend to. For now, he cooked, for Miles mostly, and liked that the plate would be licked clean each time. That’s how he left Miles on his third day back, after settling work and school stuff, seeing his therapist, and contacting friends.

He took a walk as Miles ate, and ended up at Eddie’s place without conscious thought. Stacie seemed sympathetic, and naturally stunned. Part of her doubted Eddie’s involvement, and that was fine; she let Waylon in upstairs without a fuss, and allowed him the privacy.

For a while Waylon merely stood and took it all in, the pieces of the life Eddie had scrounged up from ashes. Then, he rummaged meticulously, placing things in a bag he’d brought--guess he had some intention to go to Eddie’s place today after all.

The sketchbook he browsed, admiring, and then set aside for Stacie. Then, in the drawer he saved for last, Waylon paused.

Trinkets, he assumed at first. Then, upon closer inspection, gifts. For him. Gifts he’d saved to give to Waylon, right? Why else get them?

Waylon’s hand brushed over something familiar, and he tugged loose a bracelet. One that matched the one Waylon kept in a drawer himself. His fingers smoothed over the familiar texture. He looked past it back into the drawer and found something else.

Newspaper clippings about Murkoff’s demise, and those that discussed Miles and Waylon. Well, mostly Waylon. The bits about Miles seemed to have been purposely cut around.

Waylon smiled.

All these years of wondering suddenly validated in a single drawer.

After giving Stacie the sketchbook, he took the rest home with him.

On his walk home, relief and what might have been the seed of happiness made him feel lighter than he had in two years. Eddie was going to get the best lawyer, a Jenny something who sought not just big cases, but those where she had faith in her client’s innocence, in one way or another. Already she’d contacted him, asking for his testimony should they require it.

Things were looking better for Eddie.

Yet his mind wandered back to Miles.

Something kept him from feeling delight, not with Miles brooding at the news.

It took a while to do what he managed to do. Practically a fucking month because the police had the ability to pounce on a case as well as drag through requests. Alone, Waylon couldn’t have gotten a finger involved in Blaire’s closed case, but, well, when Jenny wanted his testimony, he could convince her for some legal aid in return for it.

So that’s how he came home after a short trip back home, where he visited Lisa and his parents while there. The plastic bag in his hand felt heavier than the object it contained, the weight intensifying with each step closer to the apartment.

Once inside, he spotted Miles at the television, per usual, boxes of Chinese littering their coffee table.

Silently, Waylon came over and gently put the bag, once evidence, on the table in front of Miles. 

Inside, Blaire’s watch still looked immaculate. 

“What is this? Please don’t tell me there’s fingers in that...” Miles had wedged himself free of the couch to inspect the box’s contents, and the sarcasm in his voice faltered as he recognized the few belongings.

He took the watch out of the box, turning it over in his hands and staring silently at it. What memories it dredged up, he was fond of. He remembered the arm this watch had clung to, remembered the hand as it would rough up his hair, pull his face into frantic kisses, would slide over his back when Jeremy...

“What are you doing with this?” he asked quietly, seriously.

Waylon shifted to his other leg and held hard onto the strap of his bag. Licking his lips, he shrugged one shoulder.

“It...deserves better than to be forever forgotten in a damn box of evidence,” Waylon said, now dropping the bag on a chair and sitting beside Miles. “It’s not on loan or anything. It’s all yours.”

Miles put the watch back, rummaging through the other contents. He pulled out a tattered cellphone, which he palmed for a second before getting up and walking to where they kept multiple charging devices. Once it was plugged in, he walked back to the box, putting the lid on it and tucking it under his arm.

“...I don’t know why you think I would want this...but thanks.” he sighed, putting the box in his room before returning to pick up some of the stacked food cartons. He’d been living like a pig whilst Waylon was gone.

“How were your parents? And Lisa? I heard she got engaged. Crazy woman.”

Waylon merely nodded as Miles did what he did with Blaire’s belongings. What could be said was transferred to the gesture of staying silent, allowing Miles the moment’s peace it took to put the items away, to be later remembered maybe.

“She is. She doesn’t want a maid of honor though. She wants a best man and asked if I’d do it, no pressure.” He helped Miles clean up. “You’re invited, of course, but you could come as my plus one. I don’t...well, it’d be nice to go with a friend unless you think I’ll cramp your style in getting laid. Her fiance has a lot of hot friends.”

“Hey, woah, are you calling me slutty? Because that’s a given. You couldn’t cramp my style if you wanted to, Park,” Miles did a little flip that did nothing to ruin his hair. He was cursed with permanent good looks, no matter how scruffy he got.

“It sounds like...a good idea. You know, see the old gang, laugh about stupid shit, forget all the drama up here for a while.” Miles fished in his pocket and produced a little box that was way too suspiciously a ring box.

“You know, Gluskin had good taste. If you were a chick. Here. You must have dropped it when you dragged all his crap to your room.”

Waylon’s joy in the wedding plans paused at the box. Curious, he accepted it, brushing off the comment as a joke. Yet as he popped off the top, he paled. Then, went red as he confirmed what his finger smoothed over was a band.

An engagement band. Well, shit.

That was one way to be proposed to.

Without thinking anything wrong about it, he slipped it onto his wedding finger, admiring it. He had the hands to go for it. The band wasn’t too feminine, at least he didn’t think so. It looked damn good on him, really, though he lacked any qualifications to determine what looked good or didn’t.

He looked at Miles, smiling.

“Then I guess we have a wedding to go to.”

He knew very well the double meaning to his words, but with Miles, he could get away with saying almost anything.

Miles almost threw his hands up when Waylon actually put the damn thing on. Sanity and reason were lost on this damn fool and he had to give up on thinking that he could instill some semblance of logic into the man.

“Yeah. Fuck. Don’t expect me to come to whatever you have with your prison fiance though. Our friendship in all respects, but there ain’t no way I’ll be part of that.”

Waylon couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“Shut up. You’re going to be my best man and the happiest one there,” he said, both in jest and in seriousness. “Come on. We have to plan this shit now. Yeah, you too. You’re helping.”


	27. Nine in the Afternoon

Waylon didn’t know if he could say the months leading up to Lisa’s wedding were smooth. They weren’t awful, and that meant enough to him. More than enough, really.

Jenny, true to her tenacity and fierce skills, got Eddie a deal Waylon had believed was part of his fantasies. He’d do time, but he’d be getting professional help to address the issues that were parched for help. That meant Waylon couldn’t visit him, but he could write, and he did every week, telling about his life, his life in college, how it differed from high school--in so many better ways.

That meant the hype around Eddie Gluskin ebbed, and Waylon found himself traversing a strange line. It felt like he was stepping back in time when he took his weekly few hours to write to Eddie and read up on anything Jenny sent him; she seemed to know too well their affection for one another.

While life rolled on for all his friends, Waylon would carve time out to visit the past. It was a weird feeling, but he learned it was normal.

That meant he could live in the present too, and he did, working part-time and going to school, researching the role of a best man so when the wedding finally came about, he felt ready.

He could do without the suit though.

As he stood, giving the speech a wedding dictated to the newlyweds, he felt suffocated. He wasn’t like Miles, who looked breathtaking without trying. Really, he felt like a kid playing dress-up all the way through, wary of everyone listening to him, knowing some saw him as the weirdo with the serial murdering ‘boyfriend’.

He still wore the band, and thank God for Lisa’s tact. She gave anyone a look who dared to make Waylon uncomfortable, on her day of all days.

There was also thanks given to the open bar.

Waylon sat at it now that the revelry began, downing his third drink with a wince. Miles’ bad habits were creeping up on him. He hated alcohol for the most part. At least with Miles, he could tag along with and not feel like an outcast.

“They all think I’m a freak,” he said at his drink. “Or like...I’m pitiful. Maybe I should get, um...medical reconstruction. You know, change how I look so our friends and family and their friends and family don’t recognize me from the fucking news. At least you are getting the good attention from….it.”

Miles was at least four drinks ahead of Waylon, but he had no problem keeping his head straight as the alcohol worked into his system. He liked the sort of blurry awareness he got from a good buzz. It certainly always made his habits, his loose, sexual moral, easier if you couldn’t quite see or remember the face of who you were with for the night.

“Tch. Park, you gotta live up to your freak flag, not hide it. They know you from the news, so work with it. Stare ‘em right in the face and tell ‘em to suck your balls if they think you’re weird.” Another strong sip and Miles gave a satisfied sigh.

“I’m really appreciating this open bar. Lisa’s a goddess for that. I bet she’s gonna have a wild night. Did you see how her dude looked at her? Shit, they gonna fuck like rabbits.” Miles chuckled as he nodded to the bartender for another.

“Makes ya kind of jealous. I haven’t had a good lay in way too long.”

Waylon sighed in agreement, clawing his way across the counter to grab another drink that was probably not even his, but called to him all the same. He took a sip, decided he could endure it, and drank more.

“Mm. You’re right. I’m a weirdo. I’m in love with a fucking serial killer who had a childhood so fucked up I can’t even understand like I get it.” Another sip, another gulp. “And I feel like a weirdo too. Seeing a therapist, getting flustered when you’re around. Why is that? I love you, but I’m not in love with you, but you still fuck my feelings up sometimes, you know? Not so serious that I wonder if I don’t love Eddie, but...I don’t know. You’re special. Do you understand me? Listen, listen...listen to me, Miles, you’re...so fucking special to me, you’re...on a different level than Eddie. Not higher, not lower. just...different,” he was staring hard at the blurry-moving bulk of Miles’ face. “And you need to know that.”

Miles couldn’t help but laugh. He’d never really gotten around to seeing Waylon drunk like this, not on the verge of throwing up, but that kind of emotional drunk that had an incessant need to share and talk. It was amusing, and kind of frustrating. How many times could he repeat that he was not in love with Miles, and yet seemed to want it all the same?

“I get it, Waylon. God, shut up about your feelings man, you’re bringing me down.” the bitter burn of his drink had him go into some details he hadn’t yet heard of.

“Do you ever...think about it though? How fucking good it would have been, with me?”

Waylon deflated over his drink, satisfied Miles had listened to him. Nursing his drink, downright cradling it, he slowly pieced the words Miles said into the sentences they had made.

“Think about it?”

Waylon snorted, then giggled before sighing. He finished his drink and turned with effort to face Miles head on. His fingers struggled with the air before landing on Miles’ neck, gave a tug, and pressed their lips for a short-lived kiss.

“I dream of it,” he said with the faintest slur, hands still on Miles’ neck. “You’re my best friend.”

He said it like that explained everything.

The kiss was still tingling on his lips and Miles cursed Waylon for being so liberal about affection. Of course he didn’t know what that kind of move awakened in Miles, of course he didn’t know that his best friend was still in love with him and fought of the fantasy of being with Waylon every day.

Waylon was drunk and far be it from Miles to make some sort of creepy ass use of the situation.  
But what he’d said still rang in Miles’ head.

“You dream about it? I know I’m irresistable, but hell, Waylon, that’s some shit you better share. At least give me that much.”

Waylon sniggered, one hand dropping off Miles to claim his drink and take another gulp. Once he set it down and returned his hand on Miles’ shoulder, he obliged the man he couldn’t get close enough to his face.

“Okay, well, listen, are you listening? Okay. Okay, good.” He shimmied his stool closer without touching the ground. “Sex is just sex...and in my dreams, it’s so easy. It’s weird that I want to have sex with you, like...it’s a way to show I love you in your own way. But most people wouldn’t get that. But, I still dream it, like…”

He bit down a grin, and thought he was whispering, but he wasn’t that much quieter. “First, you’re always taking your time getting me ready, and then it’s just going all out.” He choked down a laugh. “I especially like the ones where I’m riding you.”

He covered his mouth with one hand then let it fall on his leg.

“Don’t tell anyone, especially my parents, but I think I’m one of those who secretly really, really likes kinky shit.” He moaned his shame and wrapped his arms fully around Miles’ shoulders. “I fucking love you…”

“You’re drunk. Otherwise you wouldn’t ask me not to tell your parents you’re a kinky little fucker.” Miles patted Waylon’s arm. It was both charming and tedious. It would be too easy to take advantage of Waylon like this. But he’d have to be a real dick to do that. And as much as everything in Miles yearned to finally fuck Waylon, he wouldn’t do that. He was his best friend after all.

“I think you’ve had enough, lightweight.”

Waylon’s whine lost the argument, not that there was one to begin with. He managed mostly on his own, and collapsed against Lisa upon bidding farewells and kissing her cheek. He didn’t see her roll her eyes or nod toward Miles, who now held sole responsibility for Waylon’s wellbeing tonight.

Good-bye to beautiful Lisa and beautiful people and beautiful decor. Waylon preferred Miles’ casual company, and his good mood manifested in his humming the journey back to the hotel so extravagant that five people could fit in the damn tub. Maybe that was the point, given the nearby casinos and nightlife.

By the time they finally entered the privacy of their room, Waylon didn’t want to stop leaning off Miles. He did, after Miles encouraged him to get comfortable. So he did, shedding jacket, tie, and pants because he had a complicated method of removing his clothing instead of stripping the entire top or bottom off first.

That’s how he ended up in his nice button down, coming over to Miles and sinking against him.

“You’re not listening to me,” Waylon said against his chest. Sighing, he reached up and tugged Miles down for another chaste kiss. When he broke it, he kept his lips hovering over Miles. “I’m not drunk enough to regret this. I’m drunk enough to have the courage to do it. Only...if you’re okay with it. I wouldn’t...I’m not a bully for that kind of thing.”

This couldn’t really be happening. Miles refused to acknowledge that, because it was damn absurd. Of course Waylon would be all sorts of compliant when he was drunk, and maybe it just lowered his barriers of denial, unleashing what deadly attraction he held for Miles and clearly awakening the lust-filled desires of Waylon Park for male...attention. And quite obviously sex. He really kind of reeked of desperation and Miles hated himself for not being entirely put off by that.

“What exactly are you talking about, bud?”

Waylon smoothed his hands over Miles’ chest, up his neck, along his jaw. His attraction to Miles had never waned in all the years he knew his friend. It wasn’t the same pull he had for Eddie, not that his to-be-boyfriend crossed his mind now. This was about him and Miles, about years of support and a bond Waylon didn’t think he could have with someone that wasn’t his lover.

Sarah had always been right about their relationship after all. Waylon almost giggled at seeing her at the wedding, just as beautiful as any gem, her proclivities for the dark colors and somber expressions only adding an air of mystery to her.

“I want...no, I don’t want to spend my life second-guessing anymore. I want to live, Miles. I’m sick of just getting by. I’ve always thought about having at least one night with you, doing anything and everything, no questions asked.” Funny how alcohol made him feel more lucid, more aware of the way Miles’ eyes had a softness to them, how lips twitched when talking to him.

“Spend the night with me…”

“What about Eddie?” Miles couldn’t fight the heat welling up in him, but his mind tried anyway, clung to the notion of Waylon slipping on an engagement ring from a man sitting in prison for murder. Or a hospital, it didn’t really matter to Miles, all he knew was that Gluskin would be locked up for years.

And that Waylon was serious about having sex with him. His first instinct was to agree, because he wanted it too. But he wouldn’t stop at one night. It didn’t justify how he’d been yearning for Waylon so long.

Waylon grunted, feeling the same irritation when Eddie brought up Miles. It was too much to ask for one to forget the other. He figured such deep-seated hate had a power unlike loving someone; it wasn’t an easy emotion to shake off.

“We’re not together,” he said, stepping back to sag against the opposite wall, looking down at his bare knees. “I told him I can’t take him seriously, our...relationship seriously until I see him put the effort. I don’t want him to change for me. I want him to do it for him.”

He shrugged both shoulders, their size so dainty when compared to Eddie’s. Though the years had filled him up enough to look like a man (enough, anyway) instead of a potential-prepubesent girl, he paled compared to his friends.

“And no matter what happens with that,” he shifted, for once uncomfortable being so honest about his emotions, “you have a piece of my soul, Miles. Not even Eddie can claim that.”

“That’s...deeper than I thought you could so drunk,” Miles still couldn’t shake the heat, and now everything standing in his way had been cleared up. He saw his chance. Waylon wasn’t with Eddie, regardless of what Gluskin thought. And he’d have years before the man could come around to ruin everything again. Maybe Waylon could see, at last, that being with a person shouldn’t come with the weight of their past the way it did with Eddie. Maybe Waylon could see what was offered to him for so long, unanswered.

So Miles didn’t waste any more of their time, and drew Waylon to his mouth, to give him all the kisses he deserved.

Waylon had merely shrugged again at the comment, still studying his knees. If Miles didn’t want to, or couldn’t, indulge what should have been long before, he would understand. He wasn’t stupid; he saw Miles looking at him that way that made Waylon’s stomach flutter. Whatever his best friend said, he hadn’t gotten over Waylon entirely.

Then, there was a flurry of kisses upon him, and it was only natural for Waylon to kiss back and press up against Miles, finally obliging the need to feel him completely against his slightly smaller frame.

His fingers had a field day freeing Miles from a nice jacket and expensive buttons.

“Did you see how many people looked at you?” he said between a kiss, hands sneaking under the shirt and squeezing back muscles. One thing he didn’t quite know was what Miles did to stay in such fine shape. Maybe swimming? He thought he had smelled the hint of chlorine once.

Not important now, because he leaned back to admire Miles half a mess in his suit.

“Of course they did. Look at me,” Miles flicked his hair, took a deep breath. Already the distance between them was unbearable and besides, Waylon looked a fine sight they way he was mostly undressed and ruffled. They had to do this now, or forever hold their peace.

“Come on. Enough talk.”

It wasn’t as easy for him to lift Waylon in his entirety as it was for Eddie. Miles was agile, lithe, not a heavy muscle sort of guy. Still, he managed just fine and brought his pleasant burden to the bed.

And that bed saw a night’s worth of action to last years.

**-x-**

Waylon had one hangover his entire life, and it stayed that way. He hardly remembered dragging himself out of bed, aching all over, to wash up in the sink. Sure, he had a slight headache, but last night was not a product of drunken-induced lust. As he shuffled back to bed, where an equally naked Miles rested, he remembered what they had done. Again, and again...

It felt a long time coming, and Waylon had expected regret as much as he expected the hangover. When neither upset his early afternoon rising, he crawled back in beside Miles, deciding staying in bed all day was the best way to waste the day.

Miles slept like the dead, Waylon concluded. His friend had poured himself into their...activities last night, years of repression unleashed on every facet of Waylon’s body. He’d been more than pleased to return the affection.

Shit. They’d really gone at it. It felt...different, but not...wrong. Waylon preferred not to contemplated it anymore than recognize the soreness of his body.

Waylon bit down a smile as Miles shifted. He reached out and traced a few marks along Miles’ side, then nestled closer to tug gently on Miles’ ear.

“Miles...Miles...Miles…”

“Five more minutes,” Miles groaned from the pillow, shifting himself so he half-flattened Waylon under him. He was in the most mellow of states, and wouldn’t want to trade his pleasant dreamworld for reality just yet. Even if it called him in Waylon’s sweet voice.

Still, the squirming body beneath him had him wake up whether he wanted to or not.

“Oh...hey...morning,” a lazy, sleep-drunken smile bloomed on his face, “Sore?”

Waylon opened his mouth, then shut it. Gradually, he managed to nod, given his neck being one of the least sore of his body parts. Miles’ bliss had him stay quiet a while, partly basking in it, partly feeling the fist of guilt coming down on him.

“Hungry, too,” he said. “Since you’re the less achy one, thought you should get us food.”

He hesitated. “You okay? I mean...I, uh...didn’t really think about your feelings last night. Like...if I unfairly seduced you.” To ease the tension of his voice, he added, “Since I’m...you know, a master at seduction and all.”

A snort was Waylon’s answer. Miles chuckled for half a minute as he rolled himself comfortably to see his bedmate.

“Yeah, right, and I fell to your charms like the innocent country cherry I am.” he batted his eyelashes for effect. Then, he looked serious, which was hard given how tousled his hair was.

“You okay? No regrets?”

Waylon laughed gently at the humor, relief easing some of the aches sprouting from his shoulders to his arms. It made it easier to ease fully into the bed again, now on his back as he looked at Miles. Even at the average person’s worst, which was right after sleep, Miles looked good.

“Yeah...No regrets. I...fuck, don’t make me be mushy in the morning.” Waylon covered an arm over his eyes. “I meant what I said. I always do.”

“Yeah. You got some bad habits,” Miles yawned, reaching out to smooth his palm over Waylon’s cheek. He remembered what he thought last night too. That this was a chance. Maybe he should ask Waylon indirectly to give that to them.

“Way?” his voice was quiet, but he steeled himself, “was this...enough? Because I could do this again...and again...but I wouldn’t want to delude myself. Is this what you want?”

The light touch on his face had been plenty of preparation for what was to come. A part of Waylon didn’t want the topic to have been brought up, and a part of him did, if only because it had to be addressed. His stomach twisted, and simultaneously went at ease as he lifted his arm to look at Miles.

There were a lot of teases on the tip of his tongue. It wasn’t the time for them.

“I don’t want to mislead you, Miles,” he said. “To be honest, I thought the one night would be enough, but maybe I’m sexually starved for you, because, and it kind of freaks me out to admit, I could see us doing...that again.” He inhaled deeply. “But I couldn’t do that to you if it means...I don’t even know how to say it.”

His head was throbbing more. With enough will he made himself sit up.

“It’s going...to be a while before Eddie comes out. I want to have a chance with him, and, yeah, I’m lonely thinking about that. But I couldn’t...become more than this weird bond, maybe with extra sex in it, as a crutch and just dump you when Eddie comes out. Or...maybe it would work out, maybe we’re perfect for each other, in which case that means dumping Eddie, and...that terrifies me, Miles.”

It wasn’t quite the answer he wanted to hear, but it wasn’t flat out denial either. Waylon saw it too, this chance for the two of them to become what Waylon wanted with Eddie. And Miles knew, he knew so deeply it kind of hurt, that they could have a relationship without fear and worry, they could be happy with each other, trust and rely on each other.

“I would never let him hurt you. Waylon...you have to believe that. I want to have a chance with you. I know you want it too, otherwise you would never have done what you did last night. Don’t let the thought of Gluskin showing up one day ruin it.”

Waylon groaned and rubbed his face. Miles’ charisma was one thing, his genuine feelings were a monster of their own, a force so strong Waylon could buckled under them so easily. He would have too were he an older version of himself.

“I know, Miles. I know that,” he said, dropping his hands. “But if Eddie gets out, I...promised him he’d have his chance too. That would be so unfair. And I’m lonely, and that can’t mean I’ll make a…”

He paused. Was there a ‘right’ decision? Relationships and logic didn’t go hand-in-hand at all times. How many people had fallen for someone they thought was their soulmate, only for years to go by and abuse by that same person to take precedent over love? How many had reluctantly obliged a date, then another, and ended up with someone they spent the rest of their lives with?

Waylon dug through his emotions. He was in love with Eddie. That feeling was there from the beginning, but did his feelings for Miles mean they held less value?

“I love him, Miles,” he whispered. “And yet I might never see him outside of visitation rooms. That’s still a possibility.” He felt hopeless. So he looked at Miles, harder. “You know I love him. I know you don’t approve. But what if we ended up together and he got out? That chance is still there for him. I couldn’t...do that to you, Miles. You’ve done too much for me as it is.”

“And then what? Waylon, it’s not just that I don’t like him...but he makes you crazy. You spent a shit ton of money just flying out to have ten minute conversations with him through a glass window. He’s the kind of guy that just...he can’t be there for you like I can. Maybe you...need to think about what it is you love so much about Eddie Gluskin. A highschool crush may not be whom you’re meant to be with.”

Miles turned over and sat up, ready to get dressed and fetch food or just about anything else to distract him from this conversation.

“I don’t know what it is about him, what he has that I don’t, but I want you to think about it seriously, Waylon. Think about what’s best for you. I...I’ll always be there for you, but I won’t stand by and watch you waste your life on a half-crazy fool.”

Waylon scoffed at the truth of Miles’ words. He suddenly felt the effects of a hangover, and he rather believe it was that and not his own feelings turning him sickly. He rubbed his hands together.

At the last words, he tensed though. His heart rate went up, and he gripped his hands harder.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean.” Miles stopped and turned, watched Waylon on the bed and savoured the memory of how he’d gotten there and in such a state.

“Statistically...people with an abusive past end up becoming abusers themselves. And I don’t want to see that happen to you, or anybody, but especially you.”

Waylon considered that, wishing it was an exaggerated statistic. He failed to fight back the memory of Eddie cornering him, demanding to know if Waylon would go to the police. Of course he’d claimed he’d never hurt him. Was it true? Waylon never got the chance to find out, but Eddie was getting help now. Surely the facts didn’t favor Eddie to be an abuser anymore?

“But are you saying if...Eddie gets out and I give him a chance, you...you’ll what? Not be around anymore?”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course I’ll be around. I’m just...I’m not gonna applaud or cheer every time he brings you flowers or whatever.” Miles really, really didn’t want to think of a future where he had to watch Waylon with Eddie. It just hurt too much and though he knew it was selfish, he also knew he couldn’t bear to be so close as he was to Waylon right now in that future.

“I hate his guts. I really do. And he doesn’t deserve you. Not one bit, not even a little finger.”

Waylon watched Miles carefully, heart doing all sorts of things the longer he did. From an objective point of view, you’d think Miles was the best choice. Sane, funny, loyal to a fault, less inclined to be an abuser.

So what was it that pulled Waylon toward Eddie like he was his damn sun? It was a question his therapist asked him before, and each time he bristled and snapped at her or acted the recalcitrant child he could still be.

She’d posed the scenario of him with Eddie, with his family and friends disapproving all the way. It hurt, no matter how it was looked at.

Waylon peeled off the blankets, in mighty need of a long bath.

He lingered on the edge of the bed though.

“He’s getting help now. Do you...really think he could still be abusive?”

“Yes. I do. He’s getting help, but he’s doing it for you. You can be delusional about it all you want, Waylon, but you set him an ultimatum, and I wouldn’t put it past him to just fake his way through whatever therapy they’re giving him. He wants to be with you. I get that. He’s doing the only thing he can do to get out. You’re...I don’t know, his sun or whatever. He looks at you like you’re some kind of angel. That’s dangerous, Waylon. What if some day, he decides that you looked at someone else funny? What shit would he do to you if his little darling might not only have eyes for him?”

Miles felt over-protective, and more than that, he felt it was utterly justified in the face of Eddie’s actions.

“He killed Jeremy. Because of you.”

A chill rushed up Waylon’s spine. Twice he’d seen Eddie’s face contorted at the mere thought that he would even consider Miles a candidate to be his boyfriend. Miles’ analysis aggravated the creeping fear; Eddie was a good liar. After all, he’d broken Waylon’s promise and hadn’t Waylon easily forgive him for it?

Waylon held hard to the mattress. Eddie didn’t write him back, wasn’t allowed to yet, so he had no clue for his status.

“He thinks...you’re going to interfere,” he said, carefully, glancing at Miles.

This wasn’t about him anymore, at least, not until he could talk to Eddie. Maybe he could finally give him a call. He had to try.

“I’m going to call Jenny…”

“Do whatever. I’m getting breakfast.” Miles dismissed Waylon easily enough, but he knew what thoughts would be eating away at him for the next days.

“Just...you know. Ask questions. Don’t trust so easily. People fuck people over all the time.”


	28. Nightmare

It was downright infuriating how you could be five steps ahead and, in the course of a conversation, be ten steps back. Such was the life of Waylon Park, who considered drama a virus he couldn’t rid of. It certainly wasn’t a friend of his.

Miles’ words ate at him, and his own concerns devoured what was left of him. It was easy to skip through your fantasy, to hope for the best so hard you come to expect it. Waylon had come to expect Eddie was helping himself, learning that violence wasn’t a solution, and that he couldn’t rely on Waylon as a means to get out faster.

Just as Waylon couldn’t rely on Eddie. He didn’t want that kind of relationship. No, he did, because a part of him wanted to be toxic with Eddie and elope far away and curse the world.It was an unhealthy thought, and he didn’t need a therapist to know that.

He needed to talk to Eddie again, and not through a letter. But that meant waiting, and each week felt longer than the next, even with the usual keeping him busy. Miles acted the same toward him, but Waylon knew they both felt something disruptive when they’d bump bodies or sat too close.

Fuck his life.

With Jenny’s assistance and partnering with Eddie’s personal psychiatrist, he was finally warranted a first meeting. He’d been stunned, thinking he’d get a phone call. But seeing Eddie? After not even a year of his hospital imprisonment?

Waylon agreed, of course, and tried not to think about what Miles said as he dropped more money for a flight to yet another state. He only told Miles where he was going, and made up a family emergency for his professors and boss.

He almost preferred that because as he was finally given clearance and provided a room where he’d meet Eddie, he was feeling sick. He hadn’t eaten lately, it even hurt to eat, his stomach so sensitive. 

The room was nice and very white. Small-ish, with furniture bolted down. He sat at a table and a chair was on the other side where Eddie would sit.

Waylon rubbed the pain in his side and waited.

He didn’t have to wait for long, all things considering. Eddie was brought in by two orderlies, who didn’t look all that pleased to be doing their job, but then again, their profession wasn’t coveted by any means. Eddie looked happy though, happy to see Waylon, and happy to be out of his cell. His hands remained cuffed, but the rest of him looked healthy and well. A little too well, like he’d been allowed strenuous exercise during therapy.

“Waylon!” He breathed and smiled widely, excited enough to shuffle even when seated.

Waylon’s smile was genuine and he misplaced the pain upon seeing Eddie look so vibrant. It did him good to look happy, though the cuffs came as a surprise. Eddie was still a criminal and being exposed to a civilian. The muscle didn’t leave the room either.

“Hey. It’s...been a while. Have you been getting my letters? How...How have you been?”

“I got them,” Eddie smiled a little more secretly, like his letters weren’t being screened doubly before he got to read them. But it didn’t matter, he still pressed them to his chest every night as he dreamed of a perfect life with Waylon at his side.

“I wish I could have answered them. I missed you so much,” Eddie leaned forward to maybe touch Waylon’s hand, but the orderly closest gave a warning tap on his shoulder. Eddie shrunk back, a well trained dog at best.

“So much, Waylon...I think of you every day.”

Waylon smiled back, picking up on every little reaction Eddie had, suspicious of his enthusiasm. He noticed that Eddie hadn’t answered his question either. Maybe he could forgive that given how long they’d been apart.

“You look better,” he said. “How has your treatment been going? Can you tell me about that? Has it helped?”

“Oh, definitely,” Eddie glanced at the window to the room, he knew it this meeting was being observed and listened to. He had to pick out exactly the right words, or else this might prove fatal in keeping him locked up even longer.

“I’ve...been making progress, or so I’m told. I talked...I talked so much. About home. My family. My...childhood.” Eddie paused, fiddled with the cuffs on his wrists as he put the words right in his head.

“I’m on...anger management...that helps. They have me boxing...which is strange, I don’t enjoy hitting people, but it helps, you know?”

Waylon didn’t like the way Eddie looked over at the window or how he considered his words before saying them. He might have overlooked that before, but now it was too apparent, and it brought the pain radiating through his side again.

“It’s good to let it out in a constructive way,” he said, hesitating before continuing. “Eddie...are you...I don’t want you to be doing this for me. I came because I missed you, but I wanted to see if you were getting better for yourself. What if something happened to me and I couldn’t be the thing that’s getting you through this? Aren’t you worth enough to get better for yourself? I believe you are. You’re talented and capable of so much, Eddie...but I’m worried you’re not doing it for the right reasons.”

Eddie lost his smile as Waylon talked. It was replaced by a carefully guarded expression, but the hurt in his eyes was real. Didn’t Waylon understand that there was nothing Eddie valued more in his life than knowing him? Didn’t he understand how important he was to Eddie at all? 

“Waylon...you said that the last time we talked too. I heard you then as well. What...what more do you want from me?” Eddie didn’t fiddle anymore, and he was sitting so still he might be a statue. 

“Is it because I’m not good enough? I can be better, Waylon, I can be...I can. I swear. Please...I love you so much Waylon, don’t go away.”

“No, that’s not it, Eddie. Calm down, okay? See? You’re getting worked up already.” Waylon leaned forward, hands on the table. “I’m here. Relax. It’s not about you being enough or not. I just...don’t want you to obsess over me. I don’t want to make you sicker.”

He reached out, but knew he couldn’t touch Eddie.

“I miss you too, Eddie, but I get through it thinking you’re trying to be better.”

And he wasn’t sure that was the truth anymore.

“I am!” Eddie said it with such conviction, it left the room in silence for a minute. He stretched his fingers forward until they could touch Waylon’s, and it visibly relaxed him. The orderly sighed and tapped, but he didn’t let go.

“I’m getting better. I haven’t even thought about...doing it again. You have to believe me Waylon. You...you do.”

Eddie’s voice sounded on the verge of tears, and he visibly struggled to find words.

“Not again. Never again. I don’t...I don’t have the right. I know that now.”

Waylon’s thumb stroked along thick, rough fingers. Never mind the warning to let go, he squeezed those powerful hands, because he was a sap for Eddie through and through.

“Easy, Eddie. See? I don’t want you getting upset like this. But it’s okay. I know...it will take time for you to get better, but I’m glad you’re trying. You’re not all better. I know you want to be, but don’t rush it, Eddie.”

He smiled, heart churning. “I believe you. I’m proud of that. Okay? You’re strong, Eddie, you can do this, no matter how long it takes. You’ve been through...a lot, and you’re tough. They said that they might schedule us visits though, more like this.”

Eddie nodded, and hoped. That was all he could do in his situation, though Waylon’s touch calmed him visibly. Like giving the lion his prey to hope for his gentle nature to shine through.

“Yes...I want that. Are you...still waiting for me, Waylon?” The question was slow, the following words even slower, as if Eddie had trouble with the concept.

“It’s not nice to be alone...I know...and you’re really lonely, right Waylon? But you’d never...you...you found the,” he stared down at Waylon’s hands.

“You found the ring,” he whispered, and he sounded surprised, “No, no, you weren’t supposed to...I was...going to kneel and...”

“Eddie, it’s beautiful,” Waylon said, squeezing a little tighter, letting Eddie see the band. “Look, I said we’re not...officially together until you get out, and then that’s when we can be together again. This is...it reminds me of that.”

He looked at the band, feeling so light, pain be damned.

“You still...have a ways to go, but I haven’t gone anywhere, have I? I said I’d be there to support you get better, and I do mean that, Eddie.”

“You promise?” Eddie kept staring at Waylon’s hand, couldn’t take his eyes away from what should be a promise of a life together, and yet had been reduced to a reminder. He couldn’t fault Waylon for it, could he?

“You promise you won’t find someone else to love?” he muttered, and this time, it had more force behind it, “I couldn’t...I couldn’t handle that, Waylon. I know that’s selfish, but it’s me. I’d be...I can’t bear the thought of someone taking you away. Ever.”

Miles’ face flashed with each blink. How could Waylon uproot that kind of thinking right then and there? Talk of Miles was not for the present time.

He rubbed circles with his thumb, watching Eddie’s face.

“Tell me why then. Have they talked to you about that?” He sighed and dared to plant a kiss to the back of Eddie’s hand. “My therapist says I’m still obsessed with you Eddie, despite all my talk about trying not to. That I’m...making destructive habits because of it. I think you are too. So talk to me. Is it because I was your first like you were mine? Is it something else?”

“You’re everything,” Eddie kept a tight hold of Waylon’s hand, like he’d drift away from him if he let go. He’d never let go. 

“You...you appeared in my life when I needed you most...and you came to me. I didn’t do anything, and you came to me. And you fell in love with me, when I didn’t even...know what love really was. You showed me. You loved me. And I love you...so much...and you just...you keep coming to me, Waylon, and it is a sign. We’re meant to be...and...nothing...no one will keep us apart. You’re my...world, Waylon, and everything in it.”

Obsessive, dangerous, still toxic. Eddie breathed Waylon even in these walls. This was his attitude months later, many months later, and it didn’t look ready to assuage. That sick fantasy of Eddie swooping in and taking him away was rearing its tempting head his way again.

He was letting the world go for Eddie, or rather, rotating things so Eddie was his world.

Waylon didn’t want that, not for either of them.

He couldn’t pry his hand free, so he continued stroking Eddie’s fingers.

“Of course I keep coming. I said I was going to help you through this if they gave me the chance, didn’t I?” Eddie could learn to not obsess over him. He just needed more time. Waylon convinced himself of that.

“My time’s almost up,” he said softly. “You keep focusing on yourself, okay? You stay tough and keep at it, for yourself, not for me. If they say I can come back, I’ll...see if I can work it out.”

“Yes...you have to come back,” Eddie nodded, but he wasn’t ready to let go of Waylon. He glanced to the orderlies, saw them stand still and lax and he took his chance, diving forward to press a sweet, hurried kiss to Waylon’s lips.

“You have to wait. I’ll be with you. Forever and ever, darling. Just you wait.”

The kiss surprised Waylon and it ended swiftly, with the orderlies finally intervening at the crossed boundary. Before Waylon saw it happen right before his eyes, Eddie was restrained and tugged back to his side of the room, grinning and promising Waylon they’d be together forever.

Waylon stood up swiftly, watching the spectacle.

And that’s when the pain in him ruptured.

He didn’t hear himself cry out, or feel himself crashing to his knees and then his side. His back burned with a kind of pain from deep inside he thought he was dying. He looked up, saw Eddie’s face and the smile leave him, before he lost consciousness.


	29. Niemals

Waylon had considered himself lucky to never having woken up in a hospital. So much for that, and it made sense it would happen during the current drama of his life. He felt pleasantly numb, and heard beeps around him. Another white room.

He’d like to feel this numb for the rest of his life.

It might have been Waylon’s first time waking up in a hospital room, but it wasn’t Miles’ first time falling asleep at the side of a hospital cot. He woke when he felt the shift in Waylon, and there was nothing slow about it today.

“Hey, hey! You’re awake. Take it easy, Way, I’m here.” Miles sat up.

Waylon stared at him for a while, then smiled a long, lazy smile.

“Hey,” he said, then choked on how dry his throat was. A sip of water, provided by Miles, and he had the means to talk again. “Thanks. I…”

He glanced down tiredly at the white blanket on him, the I.V. in his arm.

“I’m in the hospital,” he said intelligently.

“Yeah, genius, you are.” Miles sighed and shoved at Waylon’s leg gently to make room for him to sit down.

“I suppose you don’t know what happened either, to put you here. You have...you had, an ulcer. And it ruptured. Shit, I don’t know what went down with Gluskin, but you’re lucky they got you here so quickly.”

Eddie.

Clearly whatever drugs they’d injected him with didn’t have the capacity to ward the memories of Eddie Gluskin, of the manic glee in his eyes, the fierce power of his kiss, the vow he made to practically burn the world if it meant it got in the way of being with Waylon.

Waylon whimpered and rolled his head back and forth.

It took him a while to lower his anxiety, with another helpful dose of whatever was pumping through him. When he felt more numb and not like he was going to vomit, he realized Miles was still at his side. Always at his side.

“He’s really sick still,” he finally whispered. “He’s...crazy obsessed with me. And I don’t know if...it’ll get better. He’s telling them what they want to hear.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I love him, and I’m still in love with him. And somehow that made him worse, not better. I...really fucked up, Miles.”

Miles listened to the reason and he should have guessed at it, really. He’d known all along, hadn’t he? He’d warned Waylon that Eddie was a crafty liar and a sick mind. But seeing Waylon hurt like this because of that just made Miles wish all the more that someone would see the truth in Eddie. Would understand why he shouldn’t be let out. It wasn’t safe for anyone. Least of all Waylon. Eddie would murder and torch the world if it meant satisfying his obsession with Waylon.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Park,” he sounded blase, but his words were meant deeply, “It’s not your fault. Maybe it’s not even Gluskin’s fault. Nobody gets crazy without the world helping them along. I’m just...glad you’re alright. I’ll stay with you, okay bud? Until we get you cleared to go home. Which, by the way, we’re doing by car.”

Which also meant that Miles had driven a day and a night to get here, just because of the hell he’d been in when the call came in that Waylon was in hospital.

Overburdened with sweet detachment and cut by the thread keeping him linked with the feelings of failure, Waylon couldn’t comprehend that meaning just yet.

All he could do was feel the way Miles held his hand, and sleep.

Waylon’s stay at the hospital encompassed days of protests and vexation. Though the surgery had passed without complication, that didn’t seem enough to let Waylon be on his way, and Miles wasn’t having his shit. He had enough of it as it was.

Nurses prodded him, doctors scanned his reports, and humiliation agitated Waylon more than he already was stuck to a bed, needing an arm to hobble to the bathroom to take a piss; his therapist has been notified, either by Miles or doctors, Waylon didn’t find out, but she did talk to Miles because Waylon was too occupied with his malaise to bother with much else. Except be a difficult patient.

He hated hospitals by the end of it. He hated and yet appreciated each text Miles got from Lisa, Sarah, and the others. His parents immediately called once word spread to them, and they would have flown out had Miles not assuaged their parental terrors.

Besides, Waylon got carted out in a wheelchair days later. It hurt to walk, but they said that was normal and he’d be physically back to it in a few short weeks like nothing happened. Emotionally, well, they weren’t qualified for that entire diagnosis but referred him back to his therapist.

Of course.

Yet again, and again, thank Miles for his presence. He handled everything with aplomb, even managed to flirt with a doctor and a couple nurses to ease the fetid atmosphere as created by Waylon. It wasn’t his own worthlessness that had made him so cranky, more so as the drug dosage thinned.

It was yet again Miles bailing him out, more literally as he rolled the wheelchair to his jeep, helped Waylon in, and folded it to fit in the back for later use. Here, in the crisp air punctuated by the odor of Miles’ jeep, Waylon relaxed.

He looked at the bags from leftovers, the empty containers for drinks. Miles had traversed across states to get to him, fueled on junk food, and probably only when he felt about to faint.

Waylon watched his best friend get in the driver’s seat, circles under his eyes, smile up.

Waylon didn’t really talk much on the drive back.

He slept some more.

**-x-**

Sleeping made things nonexistent, and tricked him into other worlds. Some were pleasant, some he couldn’t remember due to how deeply he had slept, either in Miles’ jeep, or in the hotel. How Miles had gone without a break, Waylon had no clue and didn’t really want to know.

On the third and final stop at a hotel, Waylon relapsed into nightmares.

Eddie was after him, and he was running into familiar, strong arms. Then, the embrace started to hurt, and Eddie was wrestling him to the ground, burying him in a box with holes, where no one could reach him but Eddie. Eddie would laugh at his pleas, calling him a silly darling.

Waylon woke with his breath gone as the sound of Eddie’s laughter haunted him, a cachinnation that he swore transferred into the real world.

Miles was there to calm him down. Miles made the nightmares keep their distance.

Waylon slept more.

**-x-**

“You’re depressed.”

Waylon snorted and plucked at the seam of his long-sleeve. He shrugged and plucked some more.

“Is that what sleeping a lot means?” he asked, with more bite than his therapist deserved.

She took no offense, as per usual. Today was his first session now that he was back in town. He had the mind to curl up in a ball and stare at a spot in the wall until he’d made a hole. Miles had nudged him, then hauled him completely up, and here he was.

“For you, yes. It’s a normal response. You overwhelmed your mind and body.”

Waylon sighed and tried to melt into the couch.

“No shit…”

“Have you spoken to Eddie since then?”

It was weird hearing someone else call him that. She did it because that’s how Waylon referred to him, and it helped him feel better knowing someone else saw him more as human, than potential fiend.

“No. He must be worried too. I passed out in front of him and when I tried to contact the hospital, his, um, psychiatrist, they said it was better I didn’t.”

“Why is that?”

“They didn’t say exactly, but hinted enough that they knew he was bullshitting them and I guess me passing out made him sorta relapse. I don’t know what that means.”

“You’re relapsing.”

Waylon fell onto his side with a moan.

“I’m an adult. I should have my shit together by now.”

“You’re human, Waylon. It’s not easy being one.”

Truer words were never spoken. Well, maybe if you considered what Miles talked about.

“Miles took care of me again.”

“He’s good at that, isn’t he?” Waylon knew she was smiling without looking at her.

“Yeah. I told you what he said...about giving us a chance.”

“Yes. Have you thought more about it?”

“All the time. But then I feel like an asshole, like I’m cheating on Eddie even though we’re not together, or like...that I’m picking Miles because he’s safe and that’s...not fair to him.”

“You can’t have it both ways, but you know that.”

Waylon sighed again.

“Tell me what you like about Miles.”

Waylon did, because it was easy to do what she said than lose himself to his feelings. Often times she proved talking aloud lead him to a conclusion he never thought was possible. That’s what she was paid to do, though.

“He’s handsome. Hell of a body.”

She chuckled.

“Okay, but...he’s always had this charm. I had a crush on him a little in high school, but then he turned out to be this nice guy even though he plays it off cool and uses humor to deflect personal issues. He’s...he’s got a strong sense of justice. I don’t always agree with it, but I admire it. And he’s loyal. So loyal…”

He didn’t feel himself smiling, but when he glanced at his therapist, he knew he’d been caught. He cleared his throat and looked at the fabric of the couch as he sat up again.

“I always believed you couldn’t fall in love with two people at the same time.”

“Why not?”

“I...guess because I always figured one side would always be let down?”

“There are polygamous relationships. I know one. Very happy.”

“Jesus, I’m not--”

She laughed and held one hand up. “Not at all. I wouldn’t suggest that.”

“What do you suggest then?”

She smiled at him, looking at him like this intelligent bird that transcended humanity, like she really knew the answers to everything deep down, but had to make you find them yourselves.

“Why can’t Waylon Park be in love with two people?”

“Because he’s scared one might become a dangerous obsession and the other a pity-boyfriend.”

“You don’t know the outcome to either yet.”

“But what if it’s a shitty outcome?” Waylon pressed.

“There are always a lot of reasons not to do something, Waylon.”

“What the fuck does that even mean!” He collapsed back onto the couch.

“Let’s put it another way. You’re going to die one day, Waylon, as will I, as will Eddie, as will Miles. Right now, given the information you currently have, given the complicated feelings you have, would you rather let yourself wonder about the what-ifs and realize you did that all your life, on your deathbed?”

Waylon hesitated. “No…”

“Are you sure?”

“I thought about being dead though.”

 

“Do you like that option?”

“No…”

She made a note on her pad. “Would you rather I drug you up so you don’t feel much at all?”

“I’m tempted.”

She smiled again.

He exhaled hard and shook his head. “No. I feel...I do feel proud for how far I’d come. I just hate being a dick when I feel like seeing Eddie again messed that up. It’s not his fault though. It’s mine.”

“That’s right.”

“I love him.”

“Mm.”

“I’m in love with him...that’s what I call that feeling I have for him.”

She saw him struggling with himself. “Love can be misleading, Waylon. There’s a misunderstanding that loving someone doesn’t mean you’ll never hurt them. Things happen to people. Drugs, alcohol, it can turn a loving person into a monster. It can bury their love. Love itself might not hurt a person, but the person who is in love can still hurt someone they love.”

“That’s hard to get.”

“I hear it all the time with the men and women I talk to on the domestic hot-line. They remember that love and they think it can overpower all their ills, all their addictions, their obsessions, and make it better. Love is a powerful motivator, but it doesn’t conquer all.”

And Waylon felt that, he realized. He felt his love was ignominious, and that it had fueled Eddie’s obsession (and his own) before he could tame it into something gentle, something to help them both out. His love couldn’t save Eddie and that wasn’t fair.

“I don’t know if the doctors can help him.”

“You’re not his doctor.”

Waylon shut his eyes and scrubbed them hard.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I’m thinking I want to go home and watch a shitty movie with Miles.”

“With Miles.”

He opened his eyes again. “What if...this feeling I have for him really...becomes something more? What if we’re happy together and Eddie gets out? What if I still love them both then?”

“You’re what-ifing again.”

“Hm.”

“You can’t decide that yet. You’re not you in that time yet.”

Wayon threw a hand up into the air. “I can’t control everything and everyone, and make everyone happy.”

“You’re learning well.”

“I feel like I’m failing.”

“Having a bump along the road doesn’t mean you failed. Granted, it’s a big bump.”

Waylon huffed. “What would you do?”

“Down that road again, are we?”

“Just...humor me.”

She shifted in her spot, taking her time to consider herself in a similar position. When she spoke, it wasn’t to appease Waylon.

“I’d do what I thought would be best for me. I like trying new things, and I like the thrill of not knowing how good something can be. And maybe it won’t be good. It’s about the experience, not where you end up, as the saying goes.”

“I don’t like trying new things.”

“You’ve cared for Eddie and Miles a long time.”

He perked up at that. He did. Miles wasn’t new, even if he wanted to say this would be new. Was it really? No. It was familiar. They’d had sex, they shared intimacy as much as they allowed themselves to.

Huh.

“You seem to have had an epiphany.”

Waylon focused on her, unsure how to handle the warm feeling overcoming him.

“I...guess I did.”


	30. Rolling in the Deep

Waylon reached the apartment when the sun was streaking all sorts of colors through the sky. It looked nice from the windows, which faced the door and bathed the entire place in soft tones. Miles was at his usual spot on the couch, probably not done with his school assignments. Waylon hadn’t asked, but he suspected Miles got some time off school to take care of his friend.

When Miles looked at him in greeting, Waylon stood still, hand on the bag of food he’d picked up for them on the way back.

“I don’t know how it’s possible because my feelings for Eddie haven’t changed,” he said, “but I’ve been falling for you, long before the hospital thing, Miles…”

It was scary to say it aloud, and Waylon had partly hoped hearing it would make it less true and thus simplify his life.

It didn’t sound wrong.

It sounded like a lie to the ears of one Miles Upshur though. Too long had he assured himself that Waylon’s heart would forever be sick with love for Eddie. And although Miles knew he held some part of it, that would never amount to love the way he pictured it, with dates and romance and sex.

So when Waylon came home after his therapy, interrupting what precious little time Miles made to study with that statement, the long-suffering, loyal roommate could only give him a tired smile.

“Yeah, right. That’s convenient.”

He’d been extraordinarily gentle with Waylon ever since the hospital, but now that they were home, he assumed he could go back to giving Waylon a little more of the truth, and of himself again.

And the truth of the matter was that Waylon sure fell in love easily. And at the wrong time. Not now...not now that Miles had halfway gotten over the fact he’d never be with Waylon. Not now that Miles had decided once Eddie got out, he would only watch like a hawk from the distance to make sure Waylon didn’t get hurt.

Not now. Why now?

Waylon groaned as he settled in his usual spot beside Miles, sticking him with a hairy eye.

  
"Don't make fun. It's not fucking convenient. I didnt want to acknowledge it because I was scared it was that. Convenience. But...well, I had a long fucking talk with her today."

  
He shrugged. "They wont tell me anything about Eddie. I...dont know if I deserve to try and find a stable...relationship, or if I will be happy when Eddie...if Eddie comes out."

  
Shaking his head, he cut his ramble.

  
"I still love him, Miles. And...you said we should try...but that means it...might not...work out. But I won’t know if I sit here forever giving myself another ulcer. So..."

“So, I’m what, your anti-ulcer side thing?” Miles knew he was being bitchy, but given how Waylon had danced back and forth between decisions, he also felt it was a little justified.

Was he ready to be Waylon’s pacifier? Sadly, yes. Whatever Eddie’s deal was, Miles was confident by the time he got out, Waylon wouldn’t be craving his toxic love.

“I’m kidding. I’m...here Way. We won’t know if it works or not until we try. So let’s just fucking try.”

It wasn’t the most romantic meeting of paths, nor did it mean anything substantial and long lasting would last.

  
But Waylon couldn’t deny he had feelings for Miles, and he could offer his best friend the chance to show him what relationships should be like, without the illness that could come from it.

  
Waylon scooted closer.

  
"What if I make you crazy too? It's my fault Eddie is how he is, that...he might never get better."

“Hey. Stop it. I hate it when you beat yourself up over that asshole.” Miles pushed Waylon’s head down on a pillow, enough to have the room fall quiet for a long moment.

“You won’t make me crazy. I got all my crazy in check, trust me.”

Waylon muttered into the pillow and let himself mope in silence for a while. It didnt make things easier that Miles knew his attachment to Eddie was strong, almost feral, or that this thing they were about to try out might fail.

  
Waylon didnt want to care about the unknown, about how some people being so devoted and infatuated they made the other person panic or get ulcers.

  
Slowly he sat up again.

  
"I know I'm fucked up now. Not just because I'm into two very different guys. I admit I'm messed up in the head. And you still...want me like that?"

“For fuck’s sake Waylon. Yes. A thousand times yes.” Miles leaned over and plucked his friend from the pillows, pulling Waylon sort of into his lap. Half of him still burdened the couch, but Miles had possession of most of the pile of misery known as Waylon Park.

“Are you done drowning in self pity now? Because I can think of better things for us to do together than have heartfelt talks. Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I have to be a sap.”

Waylon allowed himself to be handled onto a cozy lap as though Miles had ached to do it for so long. Waylon felt a pang for that.

  
"Okay. For now, anyway. And I'm not. ..okay, I'm a sap. I'd say sorry but I think that'd annoy you."  
He rested his hands on Miles' shoulders.

  
"I'm off the next three days."

“Good.” Miles turned Waylon’s face to him, pressing a very firm kiss to his lips. To his mind, Waylon had agreed now, that they would give being together properly a try. And it was about damn time too.

**-x-**

“Dude, Waylon, are you serious? You’re still asleep? Come on man, you’re graduating, get your cute ass out of bed!”

A tornado named Upshur swept into the shared bedroom of his sleepy boyfriend, throwing up the covers and drumming on Waylon’s naked thigh. The young man was clearly chock full of energy, because as soon as Waylon opened his eyes, he was on the move again, throwing clothes on the bed.

“Graduation, come on, we’re already late! Your parents called and said they’d meet us there.”

Years had passed since their Gluskin-themed troubles had begun, though it didn’t feel all that long considering how pleasant the time had been since then. Miles could honestly say he was in love and his life was going right, for once. Waylon was sweet and adorable and just a little gullible, but his boyfriend made up for it with his casual yet protective manner. He’d even been introduced to Waylon’s parents one Christmas, and he had the blessings of the Parks to date their son.

It was almost like the world could have forgotten Eddie Gluskin and his toxic obsessions.

Almost everyone could have.

Waylon must have been one of the few wretched souls to have not only remembered Eddie, but kept his presence in his heart and mind. He had to, since the hospital finally got back to him a year and a half ago and confessed Eddie’s state of mind was deteriorating. Waylon didn’t know what that meant, and his voice escalated upon demanding answers, but all they could tell him was he couldn’t have anymore contact with Eddie unless they said otherwise.

It had been a difficult call to endure, and Miles had listened. Satisfied, probably, but it didn’t stop Waylon from writing letters that could never be sent to Eddie.

He wrote a lot, always in privacy, and not for Miles to read. He detailed the effects of his passing out the last time they met, how his feelings had gotten in the way from seeing what Eddie needed, which was time away from Waylon. It hurt, true, and more so because the words would collect in his drawer, waiting to be mailed the moment he heard anything.

Once every couple months Waylon called to learn of anything. He never did, and each time Miles scoffed and told him he had to cut himself off entirely.

He couldn’t.

It was his unhealthy habit, and each day proved a struggle to tame it down. To his surprise, he could do it, and, well, he was happy.

He still grappled with guilt for feeling happy when he had no clue what was going on with Eddie, but he’d heard and repeated to himself how his happiness had value too, and to cast it aside for the sake of something he didn’t even know meant bad news for everyone around him.

So, Waylon let his smiles come out when Miles surprised him with romanticism. For a guy who prided himself in good lays and not much else, Waylon hadn’t expected the (frankly adorable) methods Miles employed to earn him smiles, kisses, and sometimes more.

And he smiled knowing Miles never rushed him, or demanded him to wipe Eddie off as a bad memory (or nightmare, in Miles’ words). It was a tentative situation to know your boyfriend was in love with another guy at the same time, but Miles insisted with enough time Waylon would see what warranted a good partner, a healthy love.

He did, and that sometimes hurt more when he celebrated yet another birthday, yet another holiday without Eddie. Stupid, but he got gifts for him, because he had to and no one questioned the collection in his closet.

Love for Eddie or still harboring toxic desperation to be swept away by delusions, Waylon was with Miles now.

And yes, still happy.

Waylon shifted in bed, protesting the zeal his boyfriend had so early in the morning.

Graduation?

Waylon groaned and rolled over, unable to see the way Miles ate up his body with his eyes. Sex was a given with Miles, and he was as much a great giver as a receiver, a delight Waylon got to indulge in when he felt ready to try.

They were really doing this, and each morning Waylon took a pause to appreciate Miles, to look at him sleep and love him for granting him a part of life he was starting to think he couldn’t have.

Today though, he was pushing off the bed to sit up, rubbing his eyes, an awful early riser as was testament to the few times he yelled at Miles to get the point across of needed sleep.

“I wouldn’t have trouble getting up if someone hadn’t wanted late night sex,” he said around a yawn. A smile pulled out of his sleepiness came as Miles kissed his head fondly and embraced his head. “Fine. I’m up, I’m up…”

He reached out as he did each morning and touched the band looped through a chain necklace. The day he had taken Miles up on the trying offer, it didn’t feel right to have the band on his ring finger; parting with it had been a step too great for him in therapy, so a necklace with it dangling over his chest seemed the better compromise.

As swiftly as he could in his daze, he washed up and slipped into his clothes, topping it off with his graduation gown. His family and friends would all be there, even Sarah and Simon who both tended to eschew such events where parents smiled too much or wiped at their eyes.

They all seemed pleased when Miles had blabbed, joyfully at that, about their upgraded status from friend to boyfriends. No one questioned Eddie’s purpose in it. Maybe they had seen enough with Waylon’s ulcer event to know it wasn’t a topic worth bringing up, especially when Miles (and Waylon) had a new spark to their eyes that had long since been dulled in them both.

And his parents...well, they really couldn’t seem happier. Ever since he and Miles got together, he looked better, he slept better, his therapist commended his strides. But Waylon knew he was a fuck up in the head, hence the therapist part being part of his life. He had just learned to adapt to the fact he had a sick part of him, and that a piece of his heart forever was in Eddie’s grasp.

Waylon looked at himself in the mirror and exhaled. One day at a time had lead him here. In that span, he’d gotten top grades at his school, earning him high honors, a stable job already waiting for him. He and Miles had vacationed to Greece even, back when Waylon was reluctant about their relationship and having trouble sleeping again. They’d also hit Spain and Germany, partly for Miles’ new work, but it also served a purpose of peace, of being away from everything and pretending the good feelings could last forever. Or maybe that it was better to hold onto them instead of rot with the bad.

He had color to his face now at least.

When Miles came up behind him, Waylon stroked the arms around his waist.

He turned in his boyfriend’s arms, feeling giddy at the way Miles looked at him. A fool in love, a best friend in love.

“I love you,” he said, and meant it as he tugged Miles down for a long kiss.

It was only natural that Miles answer such a sweet way of morning conversation in kind.The kiss was perfect, as was Waylon, and really, their lives had turned out predictably awesome. Miles knew it for a long time, the kind of peace they could have, and the happiness that was ensured to follow.

And best of all, Eddie Gluskin was no longer a truly important part of Waylon’s life. He didn’t wear the ring, he didn’t roll and twist in his sleep, no longer plagued by nightmares about his toxic love. It was all looking so much better now. And Miles was thankful for that.

“You sap. Come on. Let’s get our asses graduated. I have suuuch a treat planned for you tonight, Park.”

Waylon laughed, something he did often now. Despite how fulfilled he felt with Miles, he was grateful they hadn’t rushed things or that he had fallen into Miles’ willing arms out of sheer desperation for companionship; he hated being alone, truth be told.

“I can only wonder what it is,” he said. He grabbed his cap and fixed it atop his head. “And you like that I’m a sap. I’m a big dork who is overly affectionate, stubborn, and protective, and you love it. But I think you’re forgetting we won’t be home til semi-late. Our friends and family are taking me out for a celebratory dinner, remember?”

“Oh, I know. I’m counting on it.” Miles busied himself with loading Waylon into his jeep. They wouldn’t actually be late, despite his earlier complaints. They’d arrive just in time to greet their family and friends, and to get changed before the ceremony.

Waylon’s mother could not stop herself from embracing her son again and again, repeating how proud she was and how they were always going to remember this day. His father was close to tears when he saw Waylon in his robe.

It was during the ceremony, where Miles didn’t stand all that close to Waylon, that he saw what could only be described as a walking catastrophe. It chilled him to the core and his eyes sought Waylon, hoping he hadn’t noticed what Miles had.

Eddie Gluskin was threading his way through the crowd, heading for the Parks.


	31. Boats and Birds

Waylon felt a beacon of light, now without the help of someone else. It hadn’t been an easy journey to be self-sustaining as he became now, and his hard work had not only granted him honors, but the title of valedictorian.

That meant standing before a myriad of faces, many of which he didn’t know, and many who might have recognized his exploits with bringing down evil corporations and fawning over a serial killer.

Today though, Waylon didn’t feel the outcast he always did. He spoke as an equal, and he liked to think it was a damn good speech if only because it was genuine, with the experience to fuel his talk of hope, of promise, of good things to strive for in the future.

His heart stopped.

The speech halted.

Waylon’s eyes had flicked over someone disrupting the stillness of the ceremony. A bulk of body that towered over most of them. He blinked rapidly, the sun playing tricks on his mind, and picked up with a joke to dismiss his sudden pause.

His heart skipped a beat and kept pumping hard.

It couldn’t have been.

With the speech done, and the diplomas handed off, Waylon knew he was walking a little too fast to where Miles, his friends, and family waited for him.

“Mom? Dad? Are you okay?”

They were beaming. “What?” his mom said, smoothing his robe and fixing the tassel on his cap. “Of course. It was a beautiful speech, Way.”

He felt momentarily relief knowing it must have been a trick. His mom was fussing with the camera, and he looked at Miles. He looked tense, so Waylon reached out to him.

“Miles?”

“Hm? Yes, good job up there, nerd,” he said it with nothing but gentle affection, and drew Waylon into his arms. But his eyes scanned the crowd, they didn’t just search, they were hunting.

“You both did well, and you look so cute,” Waylon’s mother raised her camera for another shot of the two of them together, and kept chatting to keep the mood light.

“I made korean barbeque for tonight...it’s gonna be the best one yet. And it’ll be so nice to see Eddie again.”

Waylon leaned into Miles for each picture once his friends dispersed to grab drinks or food, or chat up with other students they knew through Waylon. Good thing too because Waylon lost his good mood entirely, stunned by what his mom had said.

“...E...Eddie? Mom,” he hesitated, “I...told you, he’s...not doing well. He’s in the hospital still. I told you this last week after I called them.”

“But he was just here,” His mother looked a little worried, but dismissed any bad implications immediately. No, Eddie had been so sweet and polite.

“Maybe he wanted to surprise you. He’s coming over for dinner, I thought it would be nice if he joined us. You’re still friends, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say so.” Miles growled, and his grip on Waylon was steel.

Waylon’s fingers found his temple. Information overloaded him and he knew a panic attack was coming when he felt his body detaching from his mind. A few deep breaths, and Miles’ expert hold on him slammed him back to the reality that his mom had just spoken to Eddie.

He couldn’t terrify her by saying he wasn’t supposed to be out.

Maybe he was? Maybe he-

“We, uh...we’ll catch up, okay? No, I’m fine. I just got to do something. Tell the others to meet us there.”

Waylon tugged Miles out of earshot, breath hitching.

“Miles? I swear I didn’t know. Maybe she’s mistaken. I talked to them and they said I couldn’t even send my fucking letters to him.” He fanned himself. It was getting scorching hot, eyes darting around the place.

“Well, shit. He’s....he’s here somewhere, Waylon. I...saw him. Right before your speech. Shit. Call his hospital. There’s no way he could have been released, it’s either a mistake or he’s escaped. God, I can’t believe your mom just invited a psycho to dinner.”

Miles rubbed his face, and for a moment, he looked truly frightened. Maybe because he knew that if Eddie saw him, saw how he was with Waylon, he would be the most wanted target. And Eddie had been deteriorating, last Waylon heard....

Waylon saw it and he grabbed Miles’ face, guilt revisiting him again after so many months.

“Miles...if...fuck, listen to me, if he’s out because he’s not supposed to, that means he’s...I’m not going to let him hurt you. Don’t rile him up if you see him. You have to let me deal with it. I...fucking…”

He muttered to himself and fished out his phone from his pocket, feeling ridiculous he was in his robes of all things. He had the hospital on speed dial and had to plug one ear while the automatic message rolled on at first.

“Yes! Yes, hi, it’s me, Waylon Park again. Yes, I’m calling about-Oh. What? Are...but when I called last time--Oh. N-No. Th...That’s...thanks.”

He hung up, stared at the wallpaper of his phone a while. The band hanging from the necklace, under layers of clothes, felt heavy.

“He was released,” he told Miles. “I don’t understand. They made it sound like...he wouldn’t.”

“What? Who the...why would he be released, he should be confined for life.” Miles didn’t feel all that great anymore, and although he had bravery in his blood, it was uncertain when it came to dealing with unstable serial killers obsessed with his boyfriend.

“I doubt that he’s better. He must have...really lied his ass off.”

Waylon met Miles’ gaze.

Shit.

**-x-**

The day Eddie got out was supposed to be a joyous occasion, at least the fantasies had made Waylon believe that since the reality simultaneously told him Eddie wouldn’t get out, not the way he was, and by the time he might, he’d have little left of his life to live.

A harsh truth either way, but Waylon didn’t feel good now.

They spent the hour leading up to dinner hunting for Eddie to no avail. Waylon had managed to deter Lisa and the others from joining dinner, lying to them and saying it would be postponed to later. If he told them the truth, they would stand their ground by him and he didn’t need more risk for casualties.

His heart was a mess too. He both didn’t and wanted to see Eddie.

So when dinner time came at the Park home, Waylon’s legs almost buckled at the sight.

Eddie had finished setting the table, food laid out in a pattern that made sense to his mom only. Waylon had made a point not to hold Miles’ hand, and how he had tried to get Miles to stay back at the apartment. He almost wished he was gripping something to tether him to the now.

“Eddie,” he said.

“Waylon. Congratulations on your graduation,” A polite nod of the head, but Eddie remained firmly by the table, motioning for his former friend to have a seat like the rest of the family. Waylon’s mother watched with eager eyes, as if she’d wanted a reunion between her son and his friend for a long time. Waylon’s father was already seated.

“It’s a happy occasion that I’m glad I get to witness.”

Chills chased away the apprehension Waylon had been feeling, and his stomach didn’t want to endure a full meal that entailed thirds if he knew anything of his mom’s method of feeding her boy.

When Eddie didn’t come for him, he felt at a loss. A light touch from Miles got him to take a seat, noting that Miles flanked his other side instantly. His fingers itched to grab Eddie, to hold him and confirm he was okay.

He kept his hands under the table, swallowing hard.

“Th...Thank you. I…”

He glanced at his mom then back at Eddie. Not the time for private questions. “I didn’t expect...to see you.”

“I am so happy to see you.” Eddie didn’t answer the unspoken question of how he’d gotten to be here. And he wasn’t about to divulge that information either as he sat down across from Miles and Waylon. All without making one move or even looking desperately at Waylon.

“Shall we eat? This looks too delicious to ignore.”

It was and Waylon had no appetite.

Those years of forcing food down his gullet automatically to avoid parental suspicion came in handy now. Waylon ate and answered his mom’s questions as best he could without heaving up the spectacle that was becoming his life once more.

When Eddie passed his gaze smoothly over him each time, he felt miniature, almost insignificant.

Dinner ended without a scene. Even Miles played the perfect gentleman, as though he harbored no spite for the man across the table from him. Waylon did a good job too not looking torn. So he liked to think anyway.

Eddie volunteered to clean up, and his mom shushed his insistence.

“No, no, I’ll deal with that later. You stay here and catch up,” she said, smiling as she collected the plates. “Mr. Park and I are going to catch a movie. We think it’d be a nice time for you to catch up a bit, hm? I know we’d just cramp your style.”

She chuckled and kept talking as she set the plates in the sink.

Waylon sat like a child at the table, staring at the fine woodwork.

“It’s so nice you came by, Eddie. Do stay to properly say good-bye before you leave, hm? We’ll be back later, okay, Way? Way! Don’t just sit there. I know you had a long day, but that’s no way to be a proper host. Or boyfriend,” she added, gesturing to Miles with a wink.

Waylon paled and shot his head up, but his parents were already leaving, the click of the door deafening.


	32. Whistle

Waylon looked at Eddie, helpless, wanting to touch him.

"An ulcer ruptured," he said, quietly, "that's why I passed out..."

Eddie smiled, right until the door closed behind Waylon’s parents. The expression on his face danced, wavered, passed through his emotions as they whirled through him. Eddie couldn’t stop looking at Waylon, and then, at Miles. When their eyes met, Eddie’s darkened with rage and unmitigated hatred.

When Waylon spoke, he regained Eddie’s attention, but whatever lurked in the back of his head, it was dangerous. Dangerous enough that it seeped across the room and had Miles wish they hadn’t cleared away the knives just yet. A preemptive stab would certainly make him feel better about being in a room with this man. This crazy, horrible man. Murderer. Liar. Psycho.

“You took too long, Gluskin. There’s no point fighting about it now, alright? So just take it easy.”

Eddie’s glare was directed to Miles, and through him, as if he barely deserved any of Eddie’s attention. And he didn’t, the little scoundrel whore that he turned out to be. Opportunistic, sneaky, manipulative Miles had done what any of his awful kind would. Whilst Eddie was gone, he lulled Waylon in, lured him with promises and safety and affection. Poor sweet Waylon had fallen for it hook line and sinker. Had fallen for Miles. Or so he believed. Eddie knew it wasn’t true. What he shared with Waylon was love, so deep and pure nothing in the universe could compare to it. What was Miles Upshur but a worthless insect on their glorious love? A festering fly or wasp, stinging and biting at Waylon when he was weak without Eddie.

But Eddie was back now. And things would change.

A long time ago, Eddie would have had the instinct to strangle and kill Miles, but he knew where that would land him. As much as making a hat out of his face sounded great, it would separate him from Waylon for life. And that, he would avoid at all costs.

So, he would do it the way their society worked, as he learned. Sneaky. Destructive. Manipulation against manipulation.

But first, Waylon. Sweet, deceptive Waylon.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who broke a promise.”

Waylon flinched.

“Eddie,” he started, mind fumbling with all the possible responses to Eddie’s being here. Treading carefully would be prudent, and would spare them the wrath that Eddie had, at least toward Miles. Waylon had seen that look, and remembering it made him stand up.

Carefully, he navigated his way around the table, dismissing any warning look Miles gave him. He had to believe Eddie wouldn’t strike out at him, or maybe he wanted him to. It would be a small punishment for the hurt Eddie must be going through, even if it wasn’t justified.

He paused a few steps from Eddie, dwarfed by his aura. Tentatively, he extended one arm and managed to smooth his fingers over Eddie’s jaw. In that instant, he forgot about everything but being able to feel Eddie under his fingertips, not through glass or the glares of orderlies.

He chuckled through his nose, the sound cracked.

“I haven’t been able to touch you in so long,” he said. His touch alone spoke volumes to the love he still had for Eddie. It was ailing now, a mold in Waylon’s heart, but that didn’t mean it had been born of purity and it was that feeling that made his lip twitch into a half-smile at Eddie.

Eddie did nothing with the touch, didn’t lean into it, didn’t move away. He just stared at Waylon, and wondered how he was going to deal with this fool he loved. Had he believed Miles’ fell seduction? Of course. Mrs Park had called them boyfriends, and they certainly looked the part. And guilty. So guilty.

What had he done all that work in the hospital for? Waylon was moving on, with Miles. Unacceptable. Completely, insanely unacceptable. The rage simmering in Eddie made his palms clammy.

“Is that why you forgot about me?”

“Forgot about you?” Waylon’s face fell, as did his hand. Then it reached out and gripped Eddie’s bicep, squeezing. “Not a day went by I didn’t think about you. I called them every month and they wouldn’t let me see you, let me send you anything or talk to you. I wrote to you every week in case they’d let me contact you. They wouldn’t...they wouldn’t even tell me if you were even there anymore, if you were alive.”

“That’s a pity, darling.” Eddie moved his arm, not jerking, but definitely pulling it away from Waylon. He didn’t want his touch, it was too soothing in a moment he wanted to feel nothing but anger. One look at Miles rectified that situation.

“It’s a pity you’re being a whore.”

“Gluskin, you need to watch your damn mouth. You don’t own Wayon.” Miles had stood by silently long enough and he reached out to draw Waylon away from Eddie’s all too powerful arms. It would be a simple matter for the brute to simply squeeze him to death.

“Oh, and you do?”

“Nobody fucking owns him, okay? He’s not a piece of meat you sicko!”

“I’m not sick. I got better. I said I would.” the gleam in Eddie’s eyes promised nothing good. His hands balled into fists.

Waylon couldn’t protest what Eddie had called him, but it burned him down to his bones. The look on his face he felt the whore, and the shock of it allowed Miles to easily pull him away from Eddie’s grasp. Not that a reach couldn’t remedy that.

“Eddie,” Waylon said, staring up at his dear friend, seeking a sign that it was his dear friend and not something else. “Are you...better now? How did you get out? I thought...the way they made it sound…”

“I wanted to surprise you. To show you I could do it, without you, so you would know it wasn’t for you. I asked them to keep you away,” Eddie’s gaze was for Waylon alone, and it pleaded with him to reward his newfound virtue in some form. The pain and anger returned not a moment later.

“I wanted you to...see...” His eyes wandered down to Waylon’s finger, and he paled a little more. The ring was gone. And with it, his hope waned. Waylon was done with him. The dream had ended, the moment passed, and Miles deserved his hatred. 

“I suppose you’re gonna wanna go.” Miles inserted sharply into the conversation, angling Waylon further away from Eddie, “since dinner’s over.”

“Do you want me to leave, Waylon?”

It was the question of the century. Waylon’s hand went to the hidden band hanging off his chest beneath his sweater. Had Eddie really gotten better? Was that the point of keeping him away? 

Sick hope crept through him.

He placed a hand on Miles’ chest gently, to quiet his protest, but his eyes never left Eddie’s.

“No,” he admitted, keeping his breath calm. “I...Jesus, Eddie, I really thought you were gone. I...Can we talk? Not like...this. Just us two.”

“Waylon. No, come on, that’s a terrible idea.” Miles turned his boyfriend to face him, and there was worry on his expression. What would Eddie do to his barely sane Waylon? Twist him around no doubt, until the fool believed in some kind of love persisting between them.

“Come on Way, don’t do this. Don’t do this to yourself, not now. We’re happy. Can’t you just...let him go?”

Eddie waited with the patience that didn’t befit his temper. He rocked a little back and forth on the balls of his feet, politely surveying the various artwork around the living room.

Waylon hesitated, almost wincing at Miles’ words.

“I am happy, Miles,” he said in a quieter tone, embracing him. “But I need to talk to him. We’ll just be in the living room. I won’t ask you to leave. I know you’d find a way back in.”

And he needed to know Eddie’s mental state, needed to know everything. This was his chance, and true, his love called out to Eddie, and if he told Eddie to leave now, he’d regret it for his life.

“Waylon!” Miles put both hands on his shoulders, pulled the uncertain young man closer as if there’d been some sort of misunderstanding. He seriously wanted to be alone with Eddie. After all that had happened?

“Don’t do this to me. You...you made your choice. You said you wouldn’t throw me away!”

“I don’t think you should be holding on so tight, Upshur. You seem a tad clingy.” Eddie commented with distance in both voice and presence. The way he balled his fist though promised Miles that he had not forgotten that one punch back at the tailor apartment. And Eddie was fit to retribute the gesture.

Waylon softened and traced his fingers along Miles’ jaw.

“I’m not going to put you through that, Miles. I just need to talk to him without you throwing him shit.” He drew him down to press their foreheads together. “Just humor me one more time.”

He leaned back as Eddie spoke, and gave him a look, but if paled among the looks he was capable of. In some ways he figured Miles had earned that remark, if only because of Waylon messing around with them both.

He really did feel like a whore.

With his free hand he gestured to the living room.

Miles went to the door as slowly and with as many backglances as a dog banished from his comfy spot on the forbidden couch. If he had that kind of tail, it would be between his legs. 

“I’ll be right here. You call if you need me, Way.”

“Yes, if we need someone to make inappropriate personal footage of voyeuristic proportions, we’ll call you, Miles darling.” Eddie’s voice was full of mockery and he waved as Miles growled his way.

Waylon didn’t indulge either of their behavior. He had enough problems of his own, one being a big one following him into the living room. He tried not to think why he kept peering at Eddie’s shadow as though expecting a fist to come down at his smaller, feebler one.

Finally, he sank into the couch, leaning against the armrest. He looked up at Eddie, not daring to demand he sit anywhere he didn’t want to.

“Nothing I can say will convince you I haven’t...stopped thinking about you, Eddie. And I can’t ever...apologize enough.” Slowly he drew out the necklace, ring resting on his palm. He stroked it lovingly. “I’m sorry I made you get sicker when I should have been helping you.”

“I don’t know about you making me sick,” Eddie shrugged as he walked across the room, past Waylon to look out of the window. He drew the blinds shut casually, taking his time to whistle a little tune as he did. He left Waylon’s conversation hanging and brushed off the apology. Or semblance of one, anyway.

“I still love you Waylon. And I know you love me. I can see it. How you look at me. How you touch me. So tell me why...why, darling? Why are you betraying me? Were you so lonely? It’s alright if you are. I can understand loneliness. I’ve been very...very lonely. But I kept myself faithful. With thoughts of you. I guess you couldn’t do the same.”

Waylon glanced up at the blinds shutting. His eyes didn’t stray from Eddie this time as he spoke.

“Eddie, you know we weren’t together. That wasn’t...healthy for either of us, and yes, I was lonely, but I didn’t let that rule my life.” So he thought. He got up and maneuvered around Eddie and started opening the blinds again.

“But if you really got out, if you kept me away to show you could be okay, then…” He studied the neighborhood through the slits, “then that’s amazing if it’s true, Eddie.”

“It’s true!” Eddie snapped, jerking the chord away from Waylon and shutting the blinds again. He glowered down at his love, disappointed, angry, all sorts of wrathful. But he swore to never raise a hand to Waylon, and that still held true.

“I don’t know what more I can do to prove it to you, Waylon. If you say...if you tell me to walk away from you...then it’s all been for nothing. I will never, never, love anyone like I love you. You don’t love him. Don’t lie to me. He’s a cushion. You missed me...I know it because I missed you. We’re meant to be. Don’t you remember our beautiful night?”

Waylon shrunk under Eddie’s retort, and hadn’t dared to open the blinds again. He treaded on eggshells with Eddie as it was. Aggravating his ire would only derail any progress he hoped to make with their talk.

So he gently laid his hands on Eddie’s chest like that alone could assuage his anger.

“You’re right,” he whispered. “I’ve asked too much of you. I’m sorry for that. And...I missed you too. I can’t forget that night we had, Eddie. I thought I could, but I can’t.” He wasn’t stupid enough to elaborate on Miles, though old fears exposed themselves again when Eddie called him a cushion and nothing more.

“Can you...tell me about how you got out so soon, then? What did they say? They must have been, well...they sounded impressed when I talked to them today.”

“I behaved. I listened. I talked.” Eddie let his fingers drift over Waylon’s jaw, and he savoured every missed touch that could now be remedied. Oh how he adored that expression, staring up at him, the longing barely veiled by the conflict in Waylon right now. Guilt was still a strong part of it. Rightfully so. Perhaps Waylon was realizing how wrong he’d been to fall into Miles’ seductive trap.

“I understood why it was so wrong...so cruel of me to let out what I should keep inside. And to let go of what my father and my uncle did to me. It’s in the past, and its been buried. With them. Their memories can’t harm me anymore...so I should not impart that pain onto others.” Eddie came closer, tugged a little until he could inhale Waylon’s breath.

“I’m alright now, Waylon. You don’t have to be afraid.”

Waylon wanted to believe it. He ached everywhere to abandon what he’d accomplished the last years and suck on the poison Eddie was laying out for him, in heaps, for his pleasure. When he responded, it sounded too eerily genuine to his ears.

“I was afraid,” he said, placing his hand over the one touching his face. He felt no inkling of disgust save for at himself. “That you weren’t better. Maybe we can--But...I’m...with Miles now. I couldn’t leave him. He’s still my best friend.”

Too easily he could be mistaken as the lamb fallen for Miles’ predatorily charming ways. At least that’s how it seemed Eddie saw it.

He dropped his gaze to Eddie’s chest. “I know you love me, Eddie. I love you too, but I don’t see how you can’t hate me right now.” He shuts his eyes tightly, refusing to cry. He felt like a teen all over again, when Blaire had bullied him and Eddie telling him he couldn’t fend for himself.

“Waylon,” Eddie nudged his chin up, but he didn’t give him any more encouraging words, instead sealing them into silence with a much needed kiss. At least on his part. How Waylon responded was a pleasant, if expected reaction. He returned it. Of course. Their love could never die, and Miles was the only psycho here for believing it would.

“I could never hate you. And I’ll forgive you for losing your way. Just remember how it feels, when we’re together,” he moved on to Waylon’s jaw, kissing it until he reached his neck, where his lips idled as he indulged in breathing Waylon’s scent.

Waylon proved how sick, and weak, he still was when Eddie claimed his mouth. It felt better than their first one, and Waylon didn’t know it was due to being starved for his addiction. Eddie was a drug incarnate, turned potent through the cycle of violence and obsession for the first person who showed him kindness.

Waylon’s breath was falling apart, especially when Eddie’s mouth did wonderful things to his jaw and neck. Their bodies were pressing closer, and Waylon couldn’t stop the shivers. Eddie was the sweetest poison. Waylon wanted to drink him in until it killed him.

“Eddie,” he whispered, angling his head to allow Eddie more access.

A memory of Miles stabbed through the indulgence, quick to fade, but it was enough to have Waylon blink.

“W-Wait, Eddie...I can’t.” His push against Eddie’s chest was barely a push, as effective as a kitten’s paw. “It’s not right. I mean...it feels...good, but I mean, the other room.”

Eddie had turned his brain into mush.

“He doesn’t matter, we’ll be quiet,” Eddie’s words came among the sweetest bites on Waylon’s neck, testimony to Eddie having missed everything involving Waylon’s person. The weak resistance didn’t feel genuine, even if he had cared about what Miles would make of all this. Eddie did not. Sweet bites and kisses travelled back over Waylon’s chin to his mouth and this kiss had the mark of true passion, their bodies pressed close enough so a sheet of paper would not have room to interfere. Eddie’s arms were around Waylon now and although the embrace could easily threaten, it did nothing but assure Waylon that Eddie was real, and here, and he would disappear again.

Sweet sounds poured into Eddie’s mouth at the next kiss. The hold Eddie had on him ensured no way of squirming free, and an infected part, a very big part, of Waylon wanted that.

He groaned and broke the kiss, panting as he angles his mouth away, but that just meant more neck for Eddie to lavish with unrestrained attention.

“Eddie, I can’t...I really...please, I feel enough of a whore like you said it, I can’t, not right now,” he inhaled sharply at an especially delightful shiver. He had to get some air or he was going to let Eddie do everything and anything, and enjoy every moment of it. “Eddie, you know I’m not quiet…”

That earned him a chuckle at least. Eddie did pause for breath, but he pressed Waylon close nonetheless.

“True. And I would never want you to be quiet.” But that didn’t mean he was going to part from Waylon any time soon. Too long they’d spent apart. Now, he was going to be in Waylon’s life, come hell or high water. And Eddie would freeze hell over and dry out the sea before he’d let anything get between them again.

“I just wanted to kiss you...touch you...for so long,” he couldn’t resist leaning in for one more touch of the lips, gentle this time, with no pressure or insistence behind it.

Of course it had to be the precise moment Miles opened the door and got an eyeful.


	33. A little more "Touch Me"

“...Are you fucking serious?” he threw into the room, and this time, when he threw his punch for Eddie’s jaw, it was caught in a fist larger than his own.

“Don’t you ever raise your hand to me again, Upshur, or I will snap you in half like a twig.” Eddie growled.

Waylon had gone tense at the barest of a kiss, because it was neither demanding or begging of him. A kiss so sweet it could be mistaken for pure, void of the poison that laced all of Eddie’s other kisses.

But he didn’t have time to contemplate that because Miles came charging, and a punch went through the air. It didn’t land.

The rage in Eddie was too visible in his voice, and Waylon didn’t doubt he would break the hand.

“Eddie!” He grabbed his arm, but knew better than to scold him. “Come on...come on…”

He tugged, relying on Eddie’s infatuation with him to trump his hate for Miles. He kept luring him away, only stopping once they were near the front door. He grabbed his arm and tried to soothe the tension that had built up as if in preparation to break Miles.

“Eddie, we,” he trailed off a moment. He had to think, but all that kept tumbling in his mind was that rage Eddie still had, so much, if not all, directed at Miles. “I think you should go for now. Let...Miles cool down and then...I need to cool down too,” he went a little pink at that, “but, Eddie, I need to ask you something.”

He peered over Eddie’s shoulder, ensuring Miles hadn’t been stupid enough to try and jump him from the back.

“If I had told you to leave and never see me again, what...what would have happened to you?”

Waylon had been wrong about that million dollar question, because this was definitely it. Eddie glared at Miles as long as he was in his field of vision, but the sight of Waylon directing him by touch mellowed him up somewhat. Although he still felt the incredible desire to smack the sass out of Miles.

“I would be a very sad, lonely man. With a broken heart no doubt, but not a broken mind.” Eddie straightened, breathed deeply, let the rage vanish from his face.

“I’m better now, Waylon. I hope you don’t question that anymore.” one last time, he leaned down to peck Waylon on the hair, stroking him for half a second before grabbing his coat and opening the door.

“Thank your mother for dinner, and tell her I regret not saying a proper goodbye.”

Waylon watched him open the door. Where would Eddie go? When would he show up again? He wasn’t done with Waylon, and Waylon didn’t have it in him to cast him out entirely. Their talk had barely begun, thanks to lust.

“The museum is doing a special exhibit tomorrow.” He inhaled deeply and settled his voice down to something not shameless again. “It’s...we still need to talk, Eddie. I can be there in the afternoon, noon time.”

And in a public place.

“It’s a date.” Eddie did a half-bow to Waylon, before sliding on his jacket and stalking off into the darkness. Wherever he was going, he certainly didn’t have to fear. No one in their right mind jumped a guy who looked like him.

When Waylon closed the door, he was faced with a speechless Miles.

The tension felt sucked out of the room the moment Eddie shut the door behind him. Waylon almost collapsed against it were it not for Miles. Seeing him, he rushed over and examined his hand, his own trembling.

Satisfied Miles wasn’t physically hurt, he shut his eyes and breathed.

“He shouldn’t be out,” he whispered, shaking his head. It was easier to know that when Eddie wasn’t in his space. “Miles…”

He launched himself at his best friend and hugged him fiercely.

“He’s saying all this shit I want to believe...but then, fuck, Miles...I’m so scared he’s going to hurt you now.”

He never felt such fear in his life.

Miles did a fine job at looking sullen as he pulled his hand back. He would have stood a chance in a fair fight against Gluskin, his pride told him so and Waylon was good at making him feel inadequate.

“Why the hell were you kissing him Way? Didn’t look like you were scared.”

Waylon moaned into Miles’ neck, shaking his head again.

“I didn’t want him to but...I didn’t do a good job of stopping him either.” He shuddered and leaned back, lowering his hands into Miles’. “When I told him I was with you, he acted like...I was being silly, like,” he scoffed pitifully, “he thinks I’m lost, that what I get from you is...not real.”

He threaded his hands with Miles tightly.

“I was always afraid if he came back, that everything I felt for you was a lie.” He looked up. “And a part of me almost wishes it was, because then I wouldn’t have to feel scared. I’m too good in his eyes and I don’t...I...Jesus, I want to try and convince him it’s not, but if he’s not okay and thinks it’s your influence...than that puts you in more danger.”

He noticed the face on Miles and managed a small smile.

“I’m sick for Eddie still. And I won’t lie. That part of me is not shutting up right now but,” another deep breath, “I’m not throwing you away, Miles. You never gave up on me. Never. I won’t give up on myself this time, and I’m not going to let him hurt you.”

It relieved Miles to hear Waylon admit to it, that it wasn’t love. It was sickness. He was sick for Eddie, and he loved him. It satisfied a deep fear in him and already he breathed easier because of it.

“I’m not helpless, Way. I can take care of myself. You don’t ever have to worry about me. But I’m glad...glad you didn’t dump me the second he showed up.” Miles reached for the necklace he knew his boyfriend never took off. He held the ring in his palm.

“I think it’s time to take it off. Be done with Eddie. And tell him that tomorrow.”

Waylon smiled at Miles, but reclaimed the ring, looking down at it.

It didn’t matter if he told Eddie he wanted to spend his life with Miles, nor did it matter what else he could say to get Eddie off his infatuation. As far as Eddie knew, Miles had tainted Waylon’s mind, and regardless if Waylon admitted it or not, that meant Miles had to be taken out of the picture, one way or another.

Waylon saw one path before him to avert that, and it was one that hurt.

He drew Miles down for a kiss, held him close as he said, “No matter what happens, no matter what, know that I love you.”

He didn’t want Miles to press him on the sudden declaration. He dragged him for another kiss, and another, and soon they were upstairs in his bed where they’d shared their first, awkward kiss together.

That night, Waylon hardly slept, watching Miles sleep in post-sex bliss, kissing his head, his shoulder, committing everything to memory.

He couldn’t bring more harm to Miles through Eddie.

**-x-**

Waylon left early, before Miles or his parents would wake up. He’d circumvented around meeting his friends for a postponed celebration. He didn’t have time to squeeze it in. What remained of him was a note to Miles and his family, asking them not to worry about him, telling them to cancel his therapy should she reach out to them when he no longer showed up.

He took the bus to the museum, somehow knowing Eddie would be lingering long before their meet-up time. He didn’t have anything on him. No I.D., no phone. All he carried was cash.

At his stop, he got off and embraced the chill of the morning as he treaded to the building.

Of course Eddie was there early. He had stayed in youth hostel, and he couldn’t sleep around strangers. Which was why he had dark rings around his eyes, yawning as he headed for the building where he’d meet Waylon in a couple of hours. The kisses had lingered on his mind more than anything.

Imagine his delight when he watched Waylon get off a bus. It seemed he wasn’t the only one impatient for their date.

“Waylon!”

Waylon’s smile wasn’t all fake upon hearing Eddie’s voice. He turned in time to see him coming down the street, and he met Eddie halfway.

Here it went. Waylon breathed through the pain in his chest.

“Please don’t...be angry with Miles. It wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I hurt him as much as I hurt you, Eddie,” he said, fisting his hands in his jackets’ pockets. “But...I’m here to make it up to you.”

He looked at the building in the distance, then at a taxi not far off.

“If...we leave now, they won’t catch up.”

Eddie had been expecting some sort of repentance, but what Waylon suggested went far and beyond what he could have hoped for. Waylon wanted to get away from everything that had muddled his brain. Understandable, considering how clingy Miles had been with him. That sort of affection was poison, definitely. Eddie was all sorts of glad Waylon had seen the truth in all of the lies he’d been living.

“You...you want to go? Where to? What will we do?” It didn’t really matter at all. Eddie extended his hand and waited until Waylon took it after some hesitation. He spun the young man into his arms.

“Oh, my love,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Waylon’s head, “Never apart again. I promise.”

He didn’t waste any time in bringing Waylon around the corner of the building to where he’d parked his bike. It was nothing fancy, but it would endure a long trip, easy. Eddie, all gentleman, lifted Waylon onto the back before climbing on and kicking the bike into life.

Waylon breathed in Eddie’s scent and shut his eyes, letting it engulf him. He remembered the smell and it hadn’t change the slightest. He didn’t care where they went, what they were going to do. He was protecting Miles, of course, but finally submitting to his own indulgence.

That runaway fantasy wasn’t quite a fantasy anymore.

He didn’t hesitate this time when he got on behind Eddie and wrapped his arms around his waist.

As it roared to life and sped through the neighborhood, Waylon started to wonder what it would have been like if he and Eddie had run off earlier on, as teens. Would Eddie still have killed after his dad and uncle were dead? Would Waylon not have given a fuck?

Not giving a fuck sounded kind of nice for once.

Telling the world to fuck off sounded even better.

“Take us somewhere far away,” he finally said over the rush of air.

Waylon’s wish was his command. Eddie didn’t stop until they hit the highway, and only when the city fell away behind them did he laugh. He couldn’t stop, even though it was irritating with the wind in his face. He didn’t care. This was what he’d been dreaming of for far too long. Him and Waylon, and the wide open world. No strings, no problems. They could do anything they wanted to, and they’d do it together. Maybe one day they’d have a house, maybe even kids? Eddie liked kids. He’d like to have a bunch of brats to call his own and spoil. Waylon would be a great parent too, he knew that from the first day he met his love. His love. The love of his life. That’s what Waylon was, and Eddie would spend every day they had together reminding and confirming it.

And Waylon laughed with him as the most sensical epiphany struck him yet.

All these years, he’d heard Eddie being called a monster, of Blaire being a seed of a demon. In truth, neither of them compared to the greatest monster of them all.

It wasn’t fear or a single emotion that had constructed it.

It was Waylon Park.

All those times looking in the mirror, seeking out the strength in him, finding a glimmer in those eyes that told him he was doing the right thing one way or another. What he failed to understand was that he wasn’t searching for any of those things, but avoiding the thing staring back at him.

A parasite.

Who knew when it started, or why exactly. Was it fear of loneliness? Was it expecting too much affection when he got it from someone other than his parents? Was it his need to be right and think he was a good guy?

At least Blaire and Eddie had known what they were, even if others had tried to change that. Waylon was worst, acting like he was naive of what he was doing. He had let himself fall in love with Miles instead of keep him at a distance, he had let Eddie come to obsess over him and given him all the tools needed to craft Waylon as his sun.

Really, Waylon was the worst of them all.

And he felt just fine with that.

He smiled, thinking of his family, of Miles. He wouldn’t stop loving him, and if Miles found him through it all, that was fine too. If it meant that Eddie or Miles had to end up ending the other’s life for peace to be established to their chaotic world, it would hurt so badly, but Waylon would come through it.

He always did, with someone’s love, didn’t he? Whether it was Eddie’s, or Miles’. Neither of them were toxic. It was him that had turned them poisonous.

So now he kept smiling, hugging Eddie tighter, latching on as a parasite did.

After all, he loved Eddie, and as his therapist once said, there was no powerful force like love.


End file.
